Saving the Galaxy and Other Fun Activities
by PurplePlover
Summary: Revan remembers her past two months prior to the Endar Spire. Fortunately for the Jedi Council, the (former) Sith Lord decides it's in her best interest to go along with their galaxy-saving scheme. The galaxy may or may not be doomed.
1. The Beginning

**A/N: Yes, I know this idea has been written to _death_ and then beaten perpetually. I apologize for adding to the pile, but it was just too tempting to try my hand at a Revan remembers story/game novelization. I shudder to even _think _about how cruelly I am beating a dead horse.**

**...I regret nothing! Except for all the present tense and grammatical mistakes I have made (and excessive use of commas). I also apologize for my poor attempt at humor - it started out snarky but then turned kind of serious and then all blended together until I couldn't stand to look at it anymore. I'm just going to let Revan guide me to whichever genre she decides, I guess.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Beginning  
**

The memories first come on Coruscant. She swears she's never been to the ecumenopolis before being employed for the transport job, but as she looks over the beautiful cityscape there is an unnatural familiarity towards the towering buildings that touch the skies. Whenever she shuts her eyes, the image of two figures, cheered on by a jubilant crowd of thousands, works its way to the forefront of her mind.

The dreams come afterwards – of places she's never visited, of battles she's never fought, and of people she's never met. She becomes fairly concerned with her mental health and ceases taking contracts (the bonus of being a mercenary is that there is no schedule to keep, only credits to be made), and though she has worked closely with the Republic and assisted with the war effort, she is not bound to it like those hopeless recruits she encounters during jobs. With no contracts tying her down, she finds herself traveling – hopping from spaceship to spaceship along the hyperlanes with no destination in mind until she becomes uncomfortably low on funds.

It is two months before the Endar Spire that Revan _remembers_. Oh of course there are dark spots in her memory, she still has the habit of answering to Aria Blackmoor, _and_ she's picked up a passion for Corellian potato sticks that's borderline obsession… but she's certain she's _mostly_ Revan again.

At first she isn't sure how to take in all the information, especially as more continued to float up to the surface after months of being drowned by the false identity so graciously given to her by the Jedi Council. She remembers the battle on the bridge after springing the Jedi Knights' trap – of Malak's betrayal that lead to the destruction of her flagship (and damn him, she'd _liked _that ship). She remembers her panicked need to protect her mind from the Council's tampering (because she would rather die than forget), remembers burying her memories so deeply within her subconscious that it would seem like her mind had been completely destroyed.

The initial discovery is frightening enough that she jumps straight into a bottle of Corellian Ale. Barely a week passes before she realizes that as a Jedi with a degree of resistance to poison, it takes a hell of a lot of alcohol to get drunk - as she currently has a credit problem, drinking herself into a stupor is a desirable, but unfeasible solution.

So Revan forces herself to embrace the truth with a mix of anger and remorse – it isn't the _worst_ thing that has ever happened to her. _Sure_, she is the very same Sith Lord that has brought the Republic to its knees, and _sure_, she's razed planets and killed millions in the name of a greater good that no on in the Republic actually understands, but she has to look on the bright side of things! Her mind is more or less intact (not counting one or two loose screws), and she appreciates being alive. With no one the wiser, she can walk away from her past, pick up a hobby, adopt a pet, and maybe try out one of those HoloNet dating services.

The problem with that plan is that Revan doesn't particularly _want_ to start over, though she's at a loss as what to do with herself now that she's been stripped of her army, her memories (for a time), and even her ominous Sith Lord wardrobe (without it she's since tanned, which Revan has to admit is a much better complexion than pasty Sith white).

She doesn't sit around long. A month later she receives notice of employment to guard the Last Hope of the Republic, Bastila Shan, on her mission aboard the Endar Spire. Revan immediately grasps the hidden intent: _the Council had plans for her_. _Obviously_ they haven't let an ex-Sith Lord run free. That alone almost makes her throw the offending datapad out the airlock, but a well-honed sense of self-preservation prevents her hasty actions.

If the Council is keeping an eye on her, she cannot very well ignore the threat of discovery. _Two can play at this game_. She'd smiled then as she'd typed up a response, and if anyone watching had known of her colorful history, they'd have noted how very Sith-like her expression had become.

* * *

First, there is a shuddering groan, like a dying beast, followed up by a violent quaking that seems to jar the very foundation of the world.

And then came the explosion.

"Kriffing sithspit!" Revan shouts, tossed forcefully out of bed as the ground beneath her tilts abruptly. Her head connects with the floor and she sees bright, painful stars.

That's when the door slides open and she frowns up at the grim face of Trask Ulgo, bunkmate of the ex-Dark Lord of the Sith, and owner of the worst haircut she has ever laid eyes on. "The Endar Spire's under attack!" The man exclaims. She responds with her best _no, really?_ glower, to little effect. She has to remind herself with some regret that as a _former _Sith Lord, she no longer inspires fear in the hearts of millions.

"Methinks it's time to abandon ship." Revan announces after picking herself up. She wipes blood from her injured nose as respectably as she can.

"We can't leave just yet! The Sith have boarded and –"

"They're after Shan." Revan finishes. It's easy enough to piece together – Malak can't have known that his old Dark Master is still alive, ergo he's discovered something else of value on this ship: Bastila Shan. If her life wasn't in danger, Revan would have been decidedly pleased with her extensive network of spies. As it is, she can only regret the competency of the army she's created. She is about to say more before the communicator on Trask's belt buzzes to life and a new voice cuts into the conversation.

"_The Sith are threatening to overrun our position_." An explosion. "_We can't hold out long against their firepower -"_ The ship rumbles dangerously. "_All hands to the bridge_!"

Well who can argue with that logic? Noting that now is not the time for a tête-à-tête, Revan hastily dresses and gears up, not caring that she's providing Trask a show. She turns back to the soldier, holstering a blaster. "Right, we're off."

"Yes, we have to get to Bastila!" Trask declares and Revan frowns. Although she appreciates that the man came back for her, she has no patience for heroes - they have a habit of dying. _Sure_, the hero package includes a fancy metal _and_ a neat eulogy, but when you're dead, it doesn't really matter. She holds his gaze, eyes narrowed.

"Look here, bunkmate, I know I signed up for this, but I have to be honest with you. I didn't expect to shoot more than a bad guy or two. I'm heading for the escape pods – I'm sure Shan, as a Jedi, can take excellent care of herself." Plus, she no longer senses the woman's presence on the ship. The battle is lost; the Most Valuable Players would have been sent off first when the fact became apparent.

And once there is nothing of value on the ship, the Sith won't hesitate to blast it into space dust. Revan doesn't plan on being aboard when it happens.

Trask hesitates for a second before compromising. "Okay – we all have to head to the bridge at any rate." With that they hurry along, knowing time is quickly running out as the walls around them shudder under great strain and explosions scorch their skin, too close for comfort. They barely stop to take care of the Sith they run into, though Revan knows with a degree of satisfaction that it's because she's a superior fighter.

Trask takes note of it as well, stopping a second to comment appreciatively. "I can see why the Republic hand-picked you for this mission."

"I like to think it's because of my charming personality." Revan throws him a confident smirk. The soldier chuckles and they carry on.

It's when they come across a Jedi and a Dark Jedi that she pauses, unsure of her options. She could help, but that would mean the use of the Force, and that would surely get back to the Council. Revan settles for a subtle Force Push, tripping the Dark Jedi as a convenient explosion rocks the Endar Spire. Unfortunately, as soon as the Jedi Knight finishes him off, the explosion takes care of _her_.

"Damn, we could've used her help. It's all going to hell." Trask mutters. Revan disagrees, but quickly checks to make sure the two Jedi are dead before taking their lightsabers. It feels wrong, almost, as if she's defiling a grave – but she knows the dead have no use for weapons. If Trask notices her pocketing the metal hilts, he doesn't comment.

The bridge is empty of Republic soldiers when they arrive. There are only a few Sith, which are easy enough to dispatch. It's when they're almost to the escape pods and they run into another Dark Jedi (powerful, but unrefined, Revan notes) that Trask decides to do something undeniably heroic, and therefore _incredibly stupid_.

"Aria, run!" The Republic soldier shouts, pushing her out of the way as a door shuts behind him. It short-circuits, denying her reentry. It would have been too late to save him by the time she got the damn thing opened.

"Shavit!" Revan curses, pounding on the door once before running towards the escape pods. As many flaws as the man had had, she'd _liked_ Trask – he'd been a decent bunkmate and had always been up for a raunchy joke or losing credits at pazaak (no matter how much she cheated). That was two strikes against Malak now – he was certainly good at ruining her day.

A squadron of Sith troopers are the last thing standing in her way of escaping this Force forsaken cruiser. She finds it lucky that she will be able to blow off some steam, though it is unlucky for them; Revan is in a bad mood.

Her comlink beeps as she's wiping the blood off her vibroblades and the same male voice she'd heard in the cabin speaks to her over the destruction of the starship. "I'm tracking your position through the ship's life support system – there's a squadron of Sith troopers near your location, can you find a way to take them out?"

"Already done. A bit late on the advice, soldier, so why don't you open the door now?" She snorts and crosses her arms. The door unlocks the next moment and she comes face to face with Commander Carth Onasi. She can't help but raise a brow. "Well, I didn't expect someone of your status to be waiting for me."

"I don't leave people behind, if I can help it." The man states with fervor in his eyes. She gets the impression that it's personal, and wishes that the Republic didn't have such a rampant Hero Complex within its ranks. Carth's eyes narrow the next second as he examines the dead Sith. "How'd you take care of all those troopers by yourself-" But Revan's already halfway into the pod and pulls Carth by his uniform to hurry them along.

"I hope you're as good a pilot as they say, because the Sith shoot defenseless targets for sport." She grins at the commander with more confidence than she feels as they jettison away from the ruins of the Endar Spire.

Carth replies with a tight but reassuring smile, suspicions forgotten for the moment. "Just hold on tight." He falls into deep concentration at the controls of the escape pod and she can imagine the cannons blasting away at them, the narrow misses as starfighters give chase. She shuts her eyes, grips her seat tightly, and provides shielding by weaving the Force through the infrastructure _just in case_.

In all the chaos, Revan forgets her _damn safety belt_ (she later claims it never happened, because as an ex-Sith Lord it is basically _against the law_ to make such silly mistakes).

It feels like forever but in actuality is probably only a few minutes when they break through the atmosphere. Revan is nauseous and her heart is beating a mile a minute as they plummet at unreasonable speeds down onto the planet of Taris and _oh Force she is not immortal – _if they continue at this rate the Sith will be wiping the Smear That Was Once Revan off the ground. She might have been screaming, though she's not quite all _there_ anymore. The escape pod barely gives as Carth pulls up from the swift descent, Taris growing rapidly in size as they close in.

The world abruptly jerks from its axis and there is noise and there is pain and –

* * *

There is light. It is universal and tumultuous, churning more like the sea than a river – all eddies and waves, too strong to fight against. But fighting is what she knows – the _only _thing she knows. She struggles against the undertow until there is no strength left, and after that she is drawn below, drowning, drowning…

There is Revan, lying in bed with banthas trampling her head into mush. "Someone get the name of the starship that hit me." Her moaning is pathetic.

She does not expect an answer but receives one, albeit dryly. "The Leviathan – Malak's flagship."

"Helpful."

"I try." The smile is heard in his voice and she can feel her own lips curling upwards.

She takes a moment to gather herself – she has not dreamt (_truly _dreamt) in years. It may have been a side-effect of becoming a Sith Lord, or it may have been her sleeping habits, but she realizes that this has been the first non-memory related dream since she went to war. Revan decides dreaming is unpleasant and will try not to do so in the future.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she opens her eyes, peers up at the ceiling, and attempts to keep her stomach from crawling up her throat. It doesn't end well and she sits up hastily, head coming between her knees as dry gags escape. A gentle pressure is placed on her back, tentative and unmoving; it is withdrawn as soon as she pushes herself upright.

"If I ever needed a drink, now would be the time." Revan announces, wincing slightly as she adjusts to lie back on the headboard.

Carth raises a brow, but she can see the relief in his face. He looks scruffier than she last recalls, though it gives him a roguish appearance that Revan admittedly appreciates (if only he'd do something about that orange jacket he'd changed into). "You've been out for three days – glad to see you up, instead of thrashing about in your sleep."

"Watching me sleep, Onasi? I'm flattered, but as first dates go, I prefer flowers and a quiet dinner." She hides the fact that she is _actually_ flattered that the man has saved her life. Amongst the Sith, weakness meant death – she has not been wont to kindness for years.

"I'll keep that in mind." Carth leans back and crosses his arms, expression expectant. "It's unfortunate that you know my name while I'm at a loss for yours, miss…?"

Revan doesn't buy the act for a minute, though the reason behind it is lost to her. As an accomplished Republic soldier, he wouldn't have waited three days to discover her name – he would've done a background check to ensure he wasn't missing anything vital that could jeopardize the mission or their lives. "Aria Blackmoor." She humors him all the same and tilts her head in greeting. She immediately regrets the action, hissing as she touches her head gingerly. Thankfully the pain is easy enough to fix – she sends a faint jolt of Force heal and feels her discomfort lessen. There's blood clumping in her hair; she decides before hitting the cantina to visit the 'fresher (her bladder will thank her).

"I brought a doctor to have a look at you when you didn't wake the second day. There's no lasting damage, and the worst of your injuries have healed, but I suggest taking it easy for another day to let the meds kick in." Carth taps the back of his head and frowns, remembering. "You had a nasty gash there. For a while I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

"I'm one tough cookie – it'll take more than a bit of head trauma to keep me down." She reassures him with a wry smile. The man will never know how very true that statement is. "…But I owe you one, for saving my life." She continues, inwardly grimacing. She does not enjoy being indebted.

"Like I said, I don't abandon anyone on a mission." And there is that glint in his eyes again. She tucks the information in the back of her mind for another time. Right now Revan wants nothing more than to hit a cantina and lose sobriety for a few hours, but her common sense screams to get a rundown of their situation before running off into unknown territory.

"So I assume you haven't kept in this room for three days, as excellent as the company would have been. Want to bring me up-to-date?"

Carth nods, taking a seat on the bed opposite of hers. "We're in an abandoned apartment on the planet of Taris. You were banged up pretty bad when our escape pod crashed." His expression is rueful and Revan can't help but interject.

"Nice flying." The compliment is genuine. In all actuality the pilot's abilities are what most likely saved their lives; the Sith would have tried to shoot down as many escape pods as possible – there is little room for mercy within the Sith Empire. She decides to voice the thought.

Carth rubs the back of his neck and smiles. "Thanks. It was touch-and-go all the way down, but I guess the important thing is that we made it. Luckily, I wasn't seriously hurt when we crashed, and in all the confusion I was able to drag you here without anyone noticing…" He pauses. _Ah, here comes the bad news_. "Taris is under Sith control. Their fleet is orbiting the planet, they've declared martial law, and they've imposed a planet-wide quarantine."

"In other words, we are trapped behind enemy lines indefinitely."

"I've been in worse spots." The pilot has the gall to say. Revan sighs.

"I guess they wouldn't be looking for a grunt like me." Thank the Force she'd always worn a mask. "Though…" She raises a brow. "Are you sure you won't be recognized, Onasi? You're quite the decorated war hero; practically a poster boy for the Republic."

"I wouldn't go that far," Carth frowns, "most people know me by name, not by face. Plus, the Sith's focus will be on Bastlia, not me."

_And most people aren't me_, she reminds herself. Because of the war, she's studied the Republic intensively; a grunt won't have the same knowledge that she's so avidly collected.

"All the same, we'll have to risk it we want to find Bastila and get off this planet." Carth continues as Revan's brows shoot up. She tells herself that Carth Onasi is not crazy, though the thought does not comfort her.

"That's a sizeable task for two people. How big is the population on this part of Taris alone? One million? Half a billion? We don't even know if Shan is still alive."

"Well what's the alternative? I don't like leaving the fate of the Republic up to a single Jedi – hell, I don't trust the Jedi any further than I can throw them – but you know as much as I do that her title as the Republic's Last Hope isn't just for show."

Revan bites the inside of her cheek and knows Carth is right (and _what is it _with the Republic's reliance on Jedi to win for them?). She doesn't want Malak to succeed any more than he does, perhaps even less. Her idiot apprentice has lost sight of the true purpose of the war – he only sought to annihilate the Republic and build a new order atop the rubble. He has long since forgotten that they had gone to war against the galaxy to _save it_. And Revan _likes _the galaxy.

She unhappily concedes Carth's point. "I better get compensated for this."

"Don't worry, the Republic pays its mercenaries well." The pilot assures her. "Now quit pouting."

"I will if you buy me a drink." Revan declares, petulant. "Also, I _don't_ pout." Sith Lords (former Sith Lords, even) pouted like Banthas flew (although they _did_ have a patent on menacing glowers).

* * *

**A/N: Oh! Before I forget - I'd appreciate constructive criticism. Was my pace too slow, too fast? Feedback is great!**


	2. Revan's Bad Mood

**Chapter 2: Revan's Bad Mood  
**

Taris is not Revan's favorite planet. It is a dirty place behind all its shiny buildings; slavery, bigotry, greed, corruption – Taris is one big melting pot of sin.

The last time she'd put foot on the giant city-world was with an army to free Taris from Mandalorian control. She remembers with gratification that not only were they victorious, she and the Republic were able to drive the Exchange out, ending their slaving operations... for a time.

It seems the Exchange is already back in full force. She hates to think of how well they're doing thanks to their shady businesses. She's had nothing _but _time to think of anything and everything that is wrong with Taris since she's been assigned one more day of bed rest. Though Carth's company is enjoyable enough, he spends most of the day out gathering information and leaves Revan to stew in her bad mood.

So it's no wonder the next day she heads straight to the cantina, despite Carth's protests to take it easy; he agrees after she points out time restraints and promises not to pass out in public. Revan _needs_ a drink now more than ever, if she's to make it through the day without murdering someone – the Sith outside their apartment notwithstanding. She's already requested an entire bottle of Tarisian Ale when Carth warns her not to spend too much with their limited funds.

"There's no price limit on happiness." She tells him while stroking the bottle lovingly. The pilot rolls his eyes and elects to remind her of the reason why they're here.

"At least _try_ to find out a way to get through to the Lower City, while you're eating through our credits." During the first few days on Taris, Carth had discovered that most of the escape pods have crashed on the lower levels of Taris, so that's where they decide to begin their search for Bastlia. Unfortunately, the Lower City is under quarantine, inaccessible to the general public.

"I will." Revan grunts dismissively. "You need to loosen up." She waves at the barkeep. "My good man – how about a round of your best Corellian Spiced Ale for my friend here?"

"It's the afternoon, Aria. I'll pass."

"We're stuck on a Sith infested hole of a planet and assigned the impossible task of finding a single woman among millions. I think that's excuse enough to get drunk." When the pilot only shoots her a dubious look, Revan throws up her hands and sighs. "Fine, at least eat something. For a soldier you're pretty damn stubborn."

"Just practical." Carth smiles. Nonetheless he accepts the plate of cantina grub that's offered to him, though seems more interested in watching Revan devouring her own. "The food's not going anywhere you know."

"Have you _looked_ at the Cantina Special? I'm not taking any chances." She stops to watch Carth curiously over her plate. "So, Onasi, tell me about yourself."

The pilot looks so taken aback that Revan laughs. "For a famous war hero you sure aren't accustomed to talking about yourself."

"I er, yeah." He admits. "There's not much to tell. I'm a soldier, like you. I've been a star-fighter for the Rep-" Carth cuts himself off, realizing he shouldn't be admitting this in public on a Sith planet. "Well, anyway, you already seem well informed on my background."

"I like to know my employers. And that's not what I meant, Onasi. How about… where you lived? Simple enough." She prods. If they are to work together, she wants to know the person she'll be relying on to watch her back.

"That doesn't seem relevant to the mission." Revan gives him a look that promises that she will relentlessly continue this line of questioning until she gets some answers (she's always had a knack for sending messages without actually saying anything), and he soon yields. "…My home world was one of the first planets to fall to Malak's fleet." Carth stops for a full minute and she's about to press him when he suddenly resumes. "The Sith bombed it into submission, and there wasn't a damned thing I – the Republic forces could do to stop them." His eyes have grown dark and furious and ashamed. The logical part of her brain tells her to stop, but the inquisitive part is nosy enough to carry on.

"You talk like it's your fault – as if _you_ failed." She leans forward, intrigued.

"I – no. I did my duty – followed my orders. _I did not__ fail them_." The last part is so quiet she barely catches it.

"Them…?"

"It isn't relevant." Carth decides to end the conversation at that. Revan wonders if the pilot's planet is one whose destruction she personally ordered. She wonders if she should apologize.

_Hi, I'm Revan, former Dark Lord of the Sith. Sorry for blowing up your planet_,_ drinks are on me_.

She knows Carth's guilt is irrational. If it had been one of the first worlds to fall, the Sith surely had the advantage of surprise. One man cannot hope to stop an entire Sith armada that has appeared from nowhere and is intent on blowing the entire place to smithereens. She tells him so, though puts it more eloquently.

The stony silence is broken as the pilot cracks a helpless smile. "Yes, I know _that_. I – It's a bit more complicated than what you assume." He shakes his head and laughs. "Thank you though. Your frankness is… refreshing." She is cut off before she can continue her inquiries as Carth shows off a remarkable bout of telepathy. "I'm sorry if I wasn't very helpful in answering your questions – I probably didn't make much sense. I won't stop you from asking any more questions, but _later_. For now let's just focus on the matter at hand."

"I'll hold you up to it." Revan assures him. It turns out that they have no more time for chitchat as the bartender places a drink in front of the ex-Sith Lord that she does not remember ordering.

"Paid for by the gentleman in the corner." The bartender gestures behind them. She swivels on her stool to address the man, puzzled.

"I can't believe you're being hit on." Carth grins.

"Stay here another hour and I bet you a hundred credits that you'll have a few admirers of your own. So shut it Onasi." A pause as she considers her options. She finally decides and stands up. "I'm going to talk to him."

"…You're drunk." Carth declares.

"I'm no pushover – it takes more than half a bottle of wine for that." She mutters. "It'll just be a moment. Don't worry, I won't do anything crazy."

Revan has always had a problem with ignorance – if she is unknowledgeable of any situation, she is quick to remedy it. And _this_ is one of those situations.

The former Sith Lord isn't _ugly_ by any standard, but she had been a _Sith Lord_, for Force's sake, who had worn a _big black cloak _and_ scary_ _Mandalorian mask_. Personal appearance had always been low on her List of Important Details to Take Over the Galaxy, so why exactly did this man have any interest in her?

Said man smiles as she sits down opposite him. "Hi there – I haven't seen you around before. Of course, they don't give us Sith officers from the military base much time off…"

The answer turns out to be so simple that Revan almost regrets her decision. He wants company to listen to him while he complains, and Revan is the lucky woman. Well… at least she can use the officer's loneliness to her advantage – even make headway into their Lower City problem. She adjusts her posture to sit more prettily, legs crossed, head in hands. She bats her lashes and hopes her acting is up to par; she hasn't been a _woman_ in years. "_Wow_, a military man. That's way more impressive than a lame _mechanic_." Her nose scrunches up as she points at Carth who is staring at his plate as if it held the secrets of the universe. "Thanks for dragging me away from that guy, he _wouldn't_ stop going on about droids." Okay, maybe she's laying it on a bit thick, but the man's buying it.

"He does seem the tedious sort. Don't worry," he smirks, "I can keep you occupied."

Revan inwardly winces at the innuendo and is reminded of why she avoids these social situations in the first place (other than the demanding business of taking over the galaxy). She's also sure there are rules in place against fraternizing with your subordinates – _especially_ when you're Revan (then again, she's technically not Sith anymore). Fighting her discomfort, she tilts her head and keeps going. "You don't _look _like a Sith."

"I'm off duty right now, so I'm not in uniform. The name's Yun Genda – junior officer first class with the Sith occupation force."

"Aria Blackmoor – bored and looking for a bit of fun." _Oh _how the mighty have _fallen_. Revan, ex-Dark Lord of the Sith, Tactical Genius, Conqueror of Worlds, has been lowered to flirting for information – and _Force_ she's even giggling.

"Well we junior officers are having a party later today…"

* * *

"No way."

"Onasi, this may be our best shot at getting to the Undercity."

"If I could go with you, I'd actually consider it."

"You know that's not possible. Yun Genda saw you in the cantina – plus the invitation was only for me. I don't think he'd appreciate _male _party crashers."

"It's better than going alone. What if you're caught? You'll be one person against a dozen soldiers. You _know _what the Sith are capable of, and we can't tip them off that we're searching for Bastila."

"I'm sure I can handle a dozen unarmed, off duty Sith. _And,_ it is in my opinion that free booze is worth any risk."

"I – you're unbelievable."

"Just _trust me_. I'm more competent than you give me credit for." But even as she says this, she can see in Carth's expression that trust is not something the man is willing to give. He isn't even worried about her _safety_ – he's worried that she'll misstep and spill the beans! Suddenly she doesn't feel like arguing any longer. "Wait, I changed my mind. Let's find another way."

Carth goes silent, obviously having expected more resistance. After a moment he sighs, relieved. "_Thank you_ for being reasonable."

Revan sits on her bed, more peeved with Carth Onasi than she'd like. He can be a right pain in the _choobies_ when he sets his mind to it. For a moment she considers utilizing Force persuade, but she doesn't want to face the consequences of failing. "Yes, well, thank_ you_ for ruining a perfectly good idea."

"I know being stuck on Taris is not the most pleasant experience, and I _know_ we have a time limit." Carth rubs the back of his neck. "But I don't want to take unnecessary risks."

"You know what? I'm going to bed." She ignores him, kicks off her shoes, and slides under the covers of her bed. She's annoyed with Carth's mistrust of her, her own inability to persuade him, and the fact that if she doesn't take this opportunity she will have lost her self-respect for nothing.

"We'll just have to scout a bit more tomorrow – maybe find someone from the Exchange. With all their '_business'_, they'd definitely have access to the Lower City." The pilot suggests, tone apologetic. She just frowns and shuts her eyes. If there is one thing she misses about being Revan, it is the position to make decisions unchallenged.

She sneaks out of the apartment as soon as Carth falls asleep. It's well into the night when she finally steps outside, so she hurries to make up for lost time.

It's along the way that she spots the city's nasty underbelly beginning to churn.

"Davik says you missed your last payment." Thug Number One says.

"Davik doesn't like you missing payments!" Thug Number Two repeats in a threatening manner.

"H-here – I've got fifty credits. A down payment. That should buy me some time, right?" Thugs' Victim asks fearfully.

"Sorry, you're out of time. Now it's all or nothing. Davik can't have people not paying his debts!"

"No, please – I don't have the money! I'll do anything – just don't kill me!"

Revan has never been one to keep out of other peoples' businesses (just ask the Mandalorians). She has a blaster to Thug One's head by the time her presence is known. "Shaking up an old man? Not very admirable."

"This has nothing to do with you." Thug Two growls in aqualish; she's never liked their language – too guttural – every time she speaks it, it's like choking on seaweed.

"Oh, I think it does. Davik's in charge of the Exchange on Taris. I _dislike_ the Exchange on a good day, and today's not agreeing with me." Revan's smile is dangerous. "So before I do anything else, tell me, do you have access to the Lower City?"

"No." Thug One swallows.

She pauses, as if considering. "That's too bad. You know who would?"

Thug Two has a hand on his blaster. He doesn't notice that she notices.

Thug One is singing like a bird now that his life is on the line. She appreciates the irony. "Canderous Ordo. He's – he's Davik's right hand man. A real tall, tough looking guy – a Mandalorian."

"Now just humor me here. Think Davik has a way off this planet? I bet he doesn't appreciate the lockdown – bad for business and all."

"Not that I know of – but it's been going around that Davik might be searching."

"And I bet a pretty credit that he'll send Ordo to do the dirty work. Know where I'd find him?"

"He's probably –"

"You won't need to know." Thug Two cuts in and lifts his blaster, effectively ending the interrogation. Revan dodges the shot and pulls the trigger; Thug One doesn't even have a chance to scream.

Blasters aren't her first choice of weapons – she likes getting up close and personal, which is messy business with a blaster. She imagines it's like putting a body part in a microwave fermenter – the result is not pretty _and_ it ends up smelling.

Thug Two meets his end the same way as Thug One and the disgusted ex-Sith Lord inwardly affirms that she will be abstaining from blaster usage from this point onwards. She wipes liquefied brain off her hand and turns to the old man.

"Don't take loans from big crime outfits. You'd be better off jumping into a pool full of hungry firaxan sharks."

The old man stutters a thank you and promptly runs away. She hopes he'll take her advice – traumatic experiences usually helped with ingraining life lessons.

The rest of the way to her destination is taken up in deep thought. Revan's always had a knack for seeing the big picture – nothing is left to chance. Locating Bastila has not been her main objective; if they rescue the Jedi but finds themselves still trapped on the planet, it would only a matter of time before they're caught. Or if they discover that Bastila has perished, they'll end up at square one and _still_ need to escape. Finding a way off Taris is priority number one.

She knows she'll most likely have to stick her nose into the world of the Exchange if she wants results, as much as it pains her to admit it, and Davik's right hand man is her best bet.

_Canderous Ordo… where could you be?_

* * *

Carth is waiting for her when she returns to the apartment three hours later. The drunken smile slips off her face as she sees his expression – there is panic and relief, though it is nothing compared to the anger. "You went anyways." It's not a question.

"It was our best bet." Revan tells him, unrepentant. She tosses a bag his way, two shiny Sith uniforms nestled in it, and falls on her bed. "Tomorrow we can head straight to the Lower City. Told you I could take care of it – and the free booze? You can call the Sith evil, but you can't fault their taste in liquor."

"This isn't a laughing matter." The pilot scowls, gripping the bag tightly. "Look Aria, you can't just do whatever you please. How do you expect me to trust you when you can't even keep your word?"

Her feigned nonchalance drops at those words and she bristles, indignant. "_Trust, Onasi_?" She jumps up abruptly and the man's eyes widen at her outburst. "Don't bother with a sermon – you know as well as I do your '_trusting_' me is a load of bantha fodder."

Carth flinches and she knows she's right on the mark, but the next second he crosses his arms and stares at her stubbornly. "I'll admit I have my suspicions, but don't blow it out of proportion."

"Oh? Please, enlighten me." Revan presses him, smiling coldly. Carth hesitates, then apparently decides he's already in too deep and speaks.

"...I've been going through the battle aboard the Endar Spire over and over in my head since we crashed. Some things just don't add up for me." He runs a hand through his hair, brushing back those two unruly stray locks that Revan suddenly wants to snip off – preferably with a vibroblade. "We lost the ship and a lot of good people… I'm surprised that any of us are alive to talk about it. So it's more than a little surprising that you happen to be here, isn't it?"

The words all sound rehearsed and Revan gets the feeling the pilot has wanted to ask her for a while. "Or it could be _luck_." She points out, hands on her hips.

Carth shakes his head. "But it's more than that. You were the only last minute transfer, requested specifically by Bastila's party when they came on board. Considering your connection to Bastila and the Jedi… whether you know it or not… your presence here seems a little convenient."

Suspicious or no, Carth's musings are closer to the truth than Revan likes. "So you decide I can't be trusted, because I am somehow connected to the Jedi." She deadpans. Honesty is not an option, so she'll have to pretend to be clueless. It's not hard – her exasperation is genuine. "Fine, go ahead, be paranoid."

"I'm not trying to be paranoid. I learned a long time ago that something which looks like a coincidence probably isn't. _Especially_ when the Jedi are involved."

_Why _did she have to crash on Taris alongside the one man with the ability to put two and two together? It's lucky he hadn't looked through her belongings – those lightsabers are still in her bag. She sighs and puts a hand to her temple. "Look, Onasi, I can't have someone who doesn't trust me watching my back. We're going to have to work together if we want to find Shan."

"I _am_ working with you." Carth insists. "I'd be a fool not to. I'd also be a fool not to expect the unexpected."

"_Questioning _my every move is _not _working with me." Revan growls. "You do know we're on the same side, right? I _agreed_ to help with your impractical plan. I _got _you the uniforms!"

"It has nothing to do with you personally… I just don't trust anyone and I have my reasons."

"Care to explain?" She already knows the answer.

"No, not really. Can we just keep our mind on more important matters?"

_You obstinate, difficult man!_ It takes all her willpower not to smash her head repeatedly into the wall – Force knows her poor head can't take much more abuse – but she's sure it will be less painful than arguing with the pilot. "Of course." She breathes and doesn't plan on bothering with Carth again. She's worked with worse. She's had Sith watching her back.


	3. Friends

**A/N: Thank you, readers, for your kind words and interest! You give me the warm fuzzies.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Friends  
**

Revan devotes the next day to giving Carth the cold shoulder and gleans satisfaction in the pilot's obvious discomfort. Even wearing the silver Sith uniform she notices the unease in his voice when he talks to her. Obviously he doesn't enjoy having his only companion on a hostile planet mad at him.

She knows she's being childish, but it only bothers her if she thinks on it too hard.

_And I thought people got _closer_ when they experience life-threatening circumstances together._

They meet no problems and soon arrive in the Lower City. Revan quickly locates a secluded corner and begins to take off the uniform; she's never been one for armor, the added protection isn't worth the restrictions on her movement. Besides, Sith will stick out like a sore thumb in the Lower City and she'd rather maintain their low profile.

"What are you…? At least find somewhere a bit more private!" Carth stutters as she wiggles out of the top and stands in her underwear. _It's as private as this place is going to get, so why don't you just quit looking, _she thinks and turns her back on him as she slips out of the pants. Revan isn't self-conscious in the least – she hasn't foundthe time to be self-conscious in her line of work – but she isn't going to _stare_ at the pilot while she strips.

That's when the shouting starts. She turns back in time see Carth taking cover as he fires at an unknown target.

_Targets_, Revan amends as she peeks out the corner, gripping a vibroblade and feeling displeasure at being taken by surprise. Two aliens are already down – the man's an excellent shot, she'll give him that – and the third closes in, only to be impaled, back to front.

Carth makes sure the fight has not drawn any unwanted attention before turning to her. "Guess you have the right idea. Those were members of a swoop gang, the Black Vulkars. They attacked because they thought I was a Sith." Though his face is hidden behind the helmet, the offense is clear in his voice. She allows a tiny smile as she wrenches the vibroblade out of the dead Nikto. "And another thing – _please _put some clothes on." He pulls off his helmet and she is amused to see the exasperation and embarrassment plastered on his flustered features.

Revan almost doesn't reply, but figures it's time to compromise after an entire morning of immaturity. Carth has done an admirable job of not only watching her back (not in the literal sense but – well… she supposes in this situation that's also applicable), but cooperating to get the job done despite any personal problems he might have. And it's not like he is in the wrong; Revan knows she is not the easiest person to work with, and also knows that meeting halfway is at times the best way to get a job done.

So she extends the peace offering. "I'm sure you've seen half-naked women before, Onasi."

It is the first time she speaks to him today and his surprise is apparent, but he is quick to recover with a dry retort. "Usually you have to buy them dinner and a few drinks." Revan smirks at that.

The pilot keeps watch for any stray gang members until she's back in her usual attire. She taps him on the shoulder and gestures that it's his turn. "Don't worry, I won't look." Carth just rolls his eyes.

Revan is an excellent liar. _Well built_, she notes with approval, and when Carth hands her the Sith uniform, she pretends she hadn't been peeking.

"We meet with the Hidden Beks first." Carth decides. During the time when she'd still been out for the count, the pilot had saved an Ithorian from a few Sith, who'd in turn helpfully told him to seek out the Hidden Beks for information regarding the Republic escape pods.

"They aren't going to attack us on sight like those Vulkars, are they?" She has to ask.

"I'm not sure… the Ithorian seemed to trust them."

"Then before we stroll into an entire base full of armed swoop gang members who may or may not be friendly, I suggest a short time to fill up on some of liquid courage. Luckily for us, I spot a cantina that way."

Carth is unconvinced. "Oh no, I am _not_ feeding your alcoholism."

"Didn't you _just_ say you'd buy me dinner and a few drinks?"

"I don't remember saying anything of the sort. Besides, I'm not sure it _works_ in reverse."

"So you _can't_ see a woman in her underwear and still want to take her out for a nice evening in the city?" Revan blinks innocently. Carth is quick to reply, eyes flashing mischievously.

"I have no problem if someone wants to, but I'm not obligated to give you credits for taking your clothes off. It mightprovide a decent distraction when we're being shot at, but I'd actually appreciate if you kept them on, if only for the sake of self-respect."

Not knowing the pilot had it in him, Revan laughs and elbows him lightly before quipping, "My friend, you may be the most wholesome man I have ever had the dubious pleasure of crash landing on a Sith occupied planet with."

Carth's brows shoot up. "Wholesome? I'm insulted."

The amiable (if slightly inappropriate) conversation continues all the way to their destination, and Revan realizes how effortlessly they've settled into their typical banter. There is a small, unpleasant thought that she just might be getting _attached_, but is quick to brush it aside as she recognizes the area from her last visit the Taris.

"Hey – there's the Beks' base." _Try saying _that_ five times_. "And what do you know? It's conveniently located across from the cantina! I'll hit Javyar's while you give the swoop gang a visit?" It isn't much of a request.

"…Fine, I'll meet you there once I'm done." Carth sighs, obviously not up to convincing her to come along. Even though they'd joked about it, there doesn't seem to be any real danger in talking to the Beks, so her presence would be unnecessary.

"I'll save you a seat!" Revan is already halfway to Javyar's.

* * *

The cantina is much livelier than the one in the Upper City. Upon entering she's greeted with a flash grenade and blaster fire. When her sight returns, there are three dead aliens and an ill-tempered looking killer walking out the door. No one bats a lash, so Revan takes a page out of their books, hops over the corpses, and casually orders a Juma Juice. Legitimacy is considered an unnecessary trait down here, what with the Exchange running things, but Revan certainly likes the anonymity of the place – she's just one unlawful face among the masses.

She doesn't expect to do any actual work while in Javyar's, but somehow finds herself conversing with one Zax the Hutt after eavesdropping on a few bounty hunters. Force persuade works flawlessly and the Hutt turns out to be a wealth of information.

"So you'd need the launch codes to get off this planet…" The gears in her mind are churning.

"Yes, and they're locked up safe in the Sith's military base. No one gets in there – too dangerous. And even if someone got the codes, where are they going to get a ship fast enough to escape the blockade?"

_You told me yourself – there's a certain crime lord out there with the fastest ship on the planet_! Aloud Revan asks, "Where can I find Canderous Ordo?"

"Why would you need to know the location of Davik's agent?"

"It's not important."

"I guess it's none of my business… Canderous Ordo should be on a job for Davik. He and a small team will be heading to the Undercity to salvage those Republic escape pods. A useless effort; I'm sure the swoop gangs will have picked them clean by now."

_Undercity? Not somewhere I want to go_. "Help me pass along a message, then. And you will tell no one else about it." She threads the Force through her command and the Hutt agrees effortlessly. "Tell Ordo that I have an offer for him. One that will bring him more honor than he can ever hope to accomplish as Davik's lackey. Tell him to meet me here in Javyar's tomorrow evening, if he's Mandalorian enough." Confident that she's challenged Canderous Ordo's pride enough to draw him out (and probably receive a blaster to the face), Revan treats herself to a glass of wine, sits down near the exit, and decides that since she's in the Pazaak room already, to make a few men poorer.

Revan is a thousand credits richer when Carth arrives, the pack slung over his shoulder noticeably lighter. "Lost our uniforms?" She raises a brow. "I left you alone for barely an hour."

"We won't need them." He hands her a set of papers. "Security papers. This should give us free passage through all levels of the city."

"Hm. Good work." She nods and pockets them before moving to somewhere not in firing range of furious Pazaak players. "Is this when you tell me we're going to have to venture into the Undercity on some quest that will inevitably bring us one step closer to Shan?"

He's surprised by her guess. "How'd you know?"

"Sound reasoning. Why would we need paperwork that grants access other levels unless the uniforms were inadequate?"

"Couldn't I have wanted a more convenient way to access the turbolifts?" He points out.

She scoffs. "_Please_, it's _never_ the straightforward solution."

"Maybe in fiction. But you're right; the Black Vulkars have captured Bastila and now she's being put up as the Vulkar's prize in the annual swoop gang race."

_How did a Jedi allow herself be captured by a swoop gang? _Revan isn't pleased with the turn of events, but at least Bastila Shan is still alive. "So we have to infiltrate the Vulkars' base to rescue Shan…"

He shakes his head. "Not that simple. Gadon said that they won't have taken any chances and would have hidden her away until the big day in one of the Vulkars' safe houses. We'll never find her in time."

She sighs. "It really isn't ever that straightforward. May I say, 'I told you so'?"

Carth throws her an exasperated look. "If that makes you feel better about the whole thing, sure."

"I told you so." She thinks it cheers her up – just a little.

"…The good news is that they're under the impression that Bastila's a normal Republic officer, so there won't be any Sith involved."

"Still don't see a plan, Onasi."

"We're going to have to play by swoop gang rules." The pilot helpfully provides. Revan's eyes widen in comprehension.

"Are you seriously suggesting that we are taking up swoop racing in order to liberate Bastila Shan, Jedi and Last Hope of the Republic?"

"Actually, we have to take back a prototype swoop accelerator from the Vulkars before the Hidden Beks even _think_ of sponsoring us in the race."

A pause. Revan places a hand on her cheek. "I'm unsure if I should be amused or horrified."

"How about: newly inspired to take back the accelerator and save Bastila?" He suggests.

She taps her chin. "Thanks for playing, but I think I'll go with amused _and_ mildly horrified. This also doesn't tell me why we have to head to the Undercity – the Vulkar base should be on this level, so why not slice the entrance?"

Carth shrugs helplessly. "It's a security measure; the door can't be opened on this side. There's a way to access the base in the Undercity, with the right codes… and the only person who has them is down there too."

The Undercity isn't even _on_ Revan's list of Planetary Points of Interest; if it had to be on a list, it would probably be one called The Nine Levels of Hell. "You do know there are Rakghoul down there, and in all likelihood a hundred undiscovered diseases." She tells him.

He throws her a small, apologetic smile. "Believe me, if there was any other choice, I'd have taken it."

Revan groans. "Yes, well, let's go before I recover my sense of self-preservation." Carth doesn't immediately follow. His expression is hesitant. She disregards it until the pilot finally calls out.

"Hey Aria –"

She pauses mid-step and looks to him expectantly.

"I, er, we didn't end last night's conversation on good terms."

It seems that he wants to take care of unresolved problems, now that they're getting along again. But _she_ doesn't want to have this talk. She's resolved to ignore all personal problems from this point onwards – she's been too careless as it is and all joking aside, their assignment takes priority. Squelching the inquisitive part of her that wants to know Carth Onasi better, Revan shakes her head and points to the door. "We need to go."

She pays no heed to her disappointment when Carth doesn't disagree.

* * *

"You there – up-worlder! Anyone using this elevator has to pay the toll!"

"Yeah! This is our elevator! If you use it, you gotta give us something!"

"I can't believe this planet. Even the beggars are shaking us down." Carth mutters.

"Five credits! That's what it costs to use our elevator! Five credits!"

The two men charging the toll are so pathetic and reek so terribly that Revan parts with twenty credits just to get rid of the numerous bad feelings they induce. She can already hear Master Kreia in her head, starting on another one of her tangents about how every small kindness can be worse than deliberate cruelty. Kreia had had a point, in all honesty – in such a poverty stricken place as this, any amount of good fortune would incur jealousy. Revan still thinks escaping the smell is worth the money.

A woman races up to them as the two men scurry off like rats. "Oh! Those two – I'm so sorry about that, the rest of us aren't like them." She says breathlessly, looking distressed.

"You seem to have some self-respect, so don't worry about being associated with them." Revan reassures her. She can't say the same about the smell.

"Ah… thank you. My name is Shaleena. You're up-worlders, are you not? I apologize if I'm intruding, but what brings you down here?"

"We're looking for someone. Happen to see any other up-worlders come this way?"

Shaleena considers the question and nods. "Yes. Quite a few, actually. I don't know much else – you should talk to Gendar about it; he's the village chief. I could show you where he is."

"Well then lead on, Shaleena."

They are introduced to a man as ragged as the rest of the village, but with the gravitas that can only come from a competent leader. Revan doesn't want to imagine taking care of so many people in such hopeless conditions. "Welcome, up-worlders." Gendar greets them. "Shaleena tells me you wish to know about others who have come to this sunless place." Sunless is putting it lightly. Revan thinks damp hopeless death pit is a more fitting adjective.

Aloud she nods. "A Mission Vao, to be precise." As she tells Gendar this, she notices an old man gesturing at her from a tent a ways away. Her attention drifts from the conversation as her curiosity is piqued. _Is he really…? Yes, he's definitely staring at me_. "…Excuse me, gentlemen." Not one to disregard mysterious old strangers, she leaves a puzzled Carth to take care of locating Mission Vao and heads toward her new person of interest.

The conversation that follows is so peculiar that Revan at one point pinches herself to confirm that she isn't having another one of those 'dreams' again.

"I assure you I'm not your Chosen One." She disagrees politely and swears she will not use Force persuade on eccentric old people in the future, even _if_ they toss around alluring hints about _secrets _and _lost knowledge_ – she's sure that mental tampering with the Force can be damaging (the Jedi Council's proven it already), and the elderly need all the mental stability they can get (now that she thinks about it, that might be why the Jedi Council is a whole load of senseless).

The old man stares at her with wide, unblinking eyes and points one wrinkled finger at her face. She takes an involuntary step back to avoid being poked in the eyes. "You know not of your own destiny. But Old Rukil can see! There are great things ahead!"

Revan thinks that Old Rukil is both _crazy_ and most likely _Force sensitive_, and then corrects her redundancy. Old Rukil is Force sensitive. "I admit I may have 'great things ahead', but it isn't thanks to destiny; it's more of a mixture of unfortunate circumstances and my own personal arrangements…" not one to give credit to destiny, she corrects him of his error, "but if I happen to stumble across those journals yours, I'll be sure to inform you." Rukil's eyes light up and he opens his mouth to start preaching once again – she decides it's time to make her escape.

But after joining up with the pilot, Revan quickly finds that she'd rather be facing Rukil and his more than likely Force-related prophesizing than their next task.

"Mission and her Wookie friend apparently explore the area from time to time, and Gendar tells me they were last seen heading to the sewers." Carth brings her up to date.

"Sewers." She repeats, sharp and… alarmed. The emotion is not lost to Carth.

"We'll get out as soon as we find Mission." He tells her, voice calming.

Revan is not afraid to get her hands dirty, though it's usually by blood. But a little grime of all things shouldn't hinder the former Dark Lord of the Sith. She sucks in a deep breath and immediately regrets it – the air in the Undercity isn't precisely clean – and chokes in a rather undignified manner until she manages to recover. "If I contract a lethal disease down there and croak, I'm coming back to haunt you."

Carth throws her a faint, lopsided smile. "Now with a threat like _that_ hanging over my head, I'll do everything I my power to make sure you stay perfectly disease-free. Nothing will happen to you, I promise."

Their search for Mission Vao is remarkably brief. A short, blue blur barrels right into Revan, who is only stopped from defending herself by the fact that the blur is crying like a girl. It turns out to be a female Twi'lek – still a kid, who's blubbering something fierce.

"Please – you have to help me! No one else will help me. Even the Beks won't help me. But I can't just leave him there – he's my friend!" The Twi'lek's big, watery eyes stare up at her. Revan carefully pries the girl's hands from her shirt and looks at Carth imploringly. The pilot smiles apologetically but leaves her to the Twi'lek's weepy mercy, and Revan swears by her namesake that she will have her revenge.

_Silver tongue, don't fail me now_. "You're Mission Vao, I assume. Please, calm down. I can't help you if I don't understand what you're saying." She puts a stiff hand on the girl's shoulder and tries to mimic the smile Carth uses to reassure her. But she can't pull off the warmth, and the kindness definitely doesn't reach her eyes. The Twi'lek's steps back, now cautious. Force, Yun Genda was so much easier to please.

But Mission decides that saving her friend outweighs the risk of trusting shady looking strangers and continues more slowly. "Me and Zaalbar were just wandering around here in the Undercity. You know, looking for stuff, just kind of exploring. We do it all the time."

"What a pleasant pastime." Revan raises a brow.

"Well, with a Wookiee at your side, you've got to figure you can handle the odd Rakghoul attack." Carth points out. He crosses his arms and frowns. "Though I still can't say I approve a kid wandering in the Undercity."

"I'm not a kid!" Mission protests, panic momentarily forgotten, but soon returns to the problem at hand, quelling her indignation. "Anyways, this time we were taken by surprise. They were waiting for us in the sewers – Gamorrean slave hunters. We didn't even have a chance to run." She stops to wipe her eyes and Revan pats the girl's shoulder awkwardly. "Big Z threw himself at them and he roared for me to run! I… I took off; I figured Zaalbar would be right behind me. But there were too many of them – he couldn't get away."

"Okay." Revan exhales, resigned. "We'll help you rescue Zaalbar _if _you promise to help us get into the Vulkar base."

"It's a deal." Mission agrees immediately, desperation replaced by a hopeful grin. For a Taris street rat, the girl is much too trusting.

* * *

The sewers are – naturally – foul. Revan gags the instance they enter, but though the place stinks, does not want to breathe through her mouth. "Why would you ever want to explore this place for _fun_?" She asks Mission, incredulous. She swears she's getting light-headed from the smell alone.

"It's interesting enough." Mission shrugs. "You get used to the smell, living in the Lower City as long as I have. Plus Zaalbar doesn't put much effort into hygiene."

"I don't think Aria's going to adjust anytime soon." Carth shakes his head and _smiles_ – the bastard. "Whatever you do, just don't faint in here. I can't promise I'll catch you."

"Go take a swim." She replies tersely, focused more on keeping her stomach from rebelling.

Revan is so distracted by her attempts to breathe as little as possible that she is caught unawares when the Rakghoul jumps her. She falls back and hits the floor headfirst, and is unable to say a single word in surprise as all the air leaves her lungs, the heavy thing crushing her underneath its weight.

She hears blaster fire and sees black spots in her vision – the adrenaline is running through her veins in such a rush that she doesn't even think before she draws on the Force and _pushes_. The Rakghoul tumbles off her and crashes into the wall with a _thud_, before it is finished off by either Mission or Carth, and Revan takes a gasp of air now that she can breathe again.

The next instance she's being shaken by Carth. " – you?" She doesn't catch the question, dizzy and nauseous.

"…What?" She asks dazedly.

"Did it bite you?" The pilot's much too close for comfort, one arm curled around her waist for support while the other runs down her body, searching for injuries.

"No… No! I'm perfectly fine." Revan slurs and her first instinct is to push him away. Her hand jerks back the instance she makes contact, a sharp pain shooting down the length of her arm like fire. She holds the hand to her chest, realization jarring her into coherence. "…Maybe not." She amends and shoves Carth off of her. She forces herself to stand, colors bursting behind her retinas, before she leans against the wall and retches.

There's alarm clear on his face. "Damn. Damn it – no!" He starts pacing, ready to wear a hole in the ground, "No, we can find the cure. The Sith should all carry it on them when patrolling the Undercity. They'll be near the escape pods – we can–"

"Get ourselves killed." She finishes. There's no way she can face off against a group of armed Sith and any stray Rakghoul in her condition, and as able as Carth is, the task would be impossible for him.

Revan stares at her bitten, bloody mess of a hand, indifferent. It's strange how calm she is, in the face of her imminent demise. She has pictured her death many times, but it's always been in the midst of battle; something flashy and awesome and _honorable_ (and full of explosions) – as the Mandalorians would put it – not quiet and cold and grotesque. _No one will even know I died – the world thinks I passed a year ago_. The thought is sad, and Revan wishes she could at least tell Carth Onasi. She knows she won't – he'd hate her, if his opinion of the Sith said anything – and for some reason Revan has come to value the pilot's opinion.

"It's fine. Continue the mission."

"I _promised _nothing would happen to you." Carth grits out. He has a faraway look in his eyes, as if he's reliving another time. The life of a soldier is a rough one – you can never assume your friends will all be breathing by the end of the year (friend? Is that what he is? She hasn't had on in years).

"But something has," she points out, "and now I'm definitely going to haunt you."

Carth forces a smile. "Leave it to you to be making jokes."

"Who said it was a joke?" Revan contends. "…Don't screw up, Onasi." There is a grim silence. The pilot breaks it hesitantly.

"Aria, I'm sorry. I…"

That's when Mission pipes in, a syringe dangling between her fingers. "Hey guys, I heard you might need this?" There is another bout of silence, though this time it is of surprise.

"_Mission Vao_." Revan's voice is deceptively calm. "Is that the _Rakghoul serum_?"

"You wouldn't believe half the things you can find here. Along with a couple of weird datapads, I came across the serum this morning." Mission confirms.

"And it did not occur to you to speak up _sooner_?" A part of her wants to strangle the Twi'lek, while the other part wants to appreciate the mischief-maker hard at work.

"Of course it did! But I didn't want to interrupt the moment." The girl answers cheerfully.

"For the love of – just hand it over Mission." Carth rolls his eyes.

"Right." She nods and races to them. "Sorry guys, I couldn't resist! You were never in any _real_ danger. And doesn't it feel nice to have some good news?"

"Not dying? Yes, in fact it does." Revan muses. The information washes over her like a warm shower (and she'd kill for a real one).

"Don't tell me you're actually considering the question." Carth groans. "Now hold still." Since her hands are shaking too badly – perhaps a side effect of the Rakghoul Disease – the pilot administers the shot to her arm. After a liberal application of antiseptic as per Revan's request (she shudders to think of the collection of bacteria she's probably contracted from touching the sewer floor), he places a kolto patch on the bite wound and coughs. "Er… I'm glad that you're going to be okay."

"Thanks." Should talking be awkward? She supposes all the dramatics _were_ rather embarrassing, but at least neither of them admitted to anything utterly humiliating or really, _really_ compromising (like the fact that she's Revan), and that's a plus, considering a moment ago she thought she had been going to die. She decides it'd be best to change the subject and addresses the Twi'lek. "Mission, you're a complete menace. I like you."

Carth sighs, but is amusement in his eyes. "You would."

Mission grins. "Aw, thanks Aria. Now come on – we gotta rescue Zaalbar!"

* * *

"Life debt." Revan isn't pleased.

"That's what he said." Mission confirms.

"I _can_ understand Shyriiwook. I just don't believe what I'm hearing." She grates her teeth. "There is absolutely no way I can dissuade you, Zaalbar? None at all?" There is a desperate edge to her voice.

"No, there is not. You have saved me from a life of servitude and slavery. There is no other way I can repay such an act except by swearing a life debt."

Carth is suspiciously quiet through the proceedings. Revan points to him. "You're forgetting Onasi! He helped."

The pilot starts. He shakes his head, insistent, and none too willing to help her out. "I can barely understand Zaalbar – Shyriiwook is a tough language to work out. I don't think I'd be suitable for a life debt."

And so Revan's last hope is dashed; she'd have a walking carpet following her for the rest of her life, because she is sure to die before Zaalbar (damn the Wookiees and their longevity). But maybe the life debt will come in handy? Force knows intimidation will be easier. Resigned, she nods, "but we are _not_ sharing the apartment unless you familiarize yourself with soap."

If nothing else, the Wookiee language is impressive with its deep resonance; Zaalbar's oath resounds through the metal room. "In the presence of you all I swear my life debt. Forever after I will be by your side, Aria Blackmoor. May my vow be as strong as the roots of the great wroshyr trees of Kashyyyk."

"So that's that." Mission is much too happy. "You got two more people followin' ya."

Revan thinks that she might have made a grave mistake, signing onto the Endar Spire.


	4. The Proposition

**A/N: I sense that there will be an ungodly amount of Carth in this fanfic as I am a shameless Revan/Carth shipper. Anyone who is opposed should leave now. I assure everyone else that all of the companions will get their share screen time. In fact, everyone's favorite glory-seeking Mandalorian shall be making an appearance this chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Proposition**

"Did it ever occur to Gadon to mention the _giant Rancor living in the sewers_?" Revan grits, at the end of her rope. Sewers, Rakghouls, near-death experiences, life-debts – she longs for a quiet evening curled up in bed with her trusted companion: a bottle of strong, mind-numbing liquor.

"Actually…" Carth trails off.

"Spit it out, Onasi." She is not in the mood to guess.

"Gadon _did_ say something of the sort… but in all the excitement I forgot to tell you." He appears repentant. She is not so forgiving. "Ow!" The pilot rubs his shoulder where Revan punched him – hard. "Guess I deserved that." He gives a sheepish smile. "Gadon also gave us a few of these," he presents them with a few vials, "synthetic odor – you can time it to go off. It's supposed to smell like Rancor food, whatever _that_ is."

"So we place a few frag grenades alongside it, and the Racor'll get an explosive treat." Revan concludes. "Luckily for us, there's a pile of bodies to hide both." Most likely due to the Vulkars – they probably fed the beast to keep it here, guarding the entrance to their base from unwanted visitors. Revan thinks it's crude, but effective, and would admire the tactic if she were not one of those intruders; as she _is _one of those intruders, her primary desire is to introduce her vibroblades to a few dozen Vulkars for making her day more difficult… as soon as they're no longer in danger of becoming lunch. "We'll need one person to sneak past the Rancor."

Mission is quick to volunteer. "I'll do it."

"No." Carth rejects.

"Sure." Revan consents.

"You can't be serious." The pilot protests. She looks at him blankly. "…You're serious."

"Onasi, we aren't babysitters. If Mission's coming with us, she'll face dangers we can't always protect her from."

"I don't_ need_ protecting. I ain't a kid!" Mission insists.

"That's right. She's a perfectly capable young woman." Revan promptly agrees.

"We still have a responsibility to ensure the safety of – you called her Mission." Carth notices abruptly.

"And…?" She feigns confusion.

"_And _why am I Onasi?"

"Because I like Mission." She answers frankly.

Carth raises a brow at the implication. "And you don't like me."

"You _can _be insufferable at times," Revan admits, "but no. I like Mission. It has a better ring to it than Vao. Mostly I refer to people by their last names. It's professional." First names are personal, and if there's one thing Revan does not want to do, it's get too personal.

"This is all very informative, but there _is_ a Rancor sitting in the other room and we're talking pretty loudly." Mission points out, and they are dragged back to the matter at hand. With the reminder, they mind their voices, as it would be regrettable to draw the attention of a hungry Rancor.

Seeing the bickering about to begin again, Zaalbar puts forth his two credits. "I trust Mission. You will have better luck spotting the new moons of Kashyyyk on the darkest night of the year than Mission, when she does not want to be found."

_She's perfectly safe, anyways_. Revan still remembers Kreia's nifty little trick to take control of a beast's mind; the Rancor may be larger than most beasts, but in the end it's _still_ a beast. And while she believes in her own abilities, Revan would rather take the smartest route, which means sending Mission in while she makes sure there were no complications.

Knowing a lost battle when he sees one, Carth quits fighting. "Be careful, Mission."

"Careful is my middle name." The Twi'lek declares with armful of frag grenaes. She activates her stealth field and vanishes.

"Twi'leks don't have middle names." Revan muses. "Their names are usually singular, made up of an individual name and clan name."

Carth rolls his eyes. "You wouldn't address her by it, at any rate."

She shakes her head and does her best to look affronted. "Are you still hung up on that? Onasi is a perfectly reasonable name. There are plenty of worse things to be called." Like villainous murdering Sith Lord. She hadn't chosen the title herself, but somewhere along the way she'd picked it up and couldn't be bothered to lose it.

The pilot's eyes flash wickedly. "Oh? Well I'm all ears, beautiful."

Revan stifles a grin and gladly plays along. The man could use a distraction anyway, to prevent him from worrying about Mission and thus doubt her decision. "'Beautiful'? Isn't that a little inappropriate?"

"Is there something else you'd prefer I call you?" The question is posed with innocent curiosity.

"How about 'gorgeous'? I like that better."

He rubs his chin and pretends to contemplate. "I _might_ consider it. What are you going to call me, in exchange?" Was that a hint of challenge? Not one to disappoint, Revan readily answers.

"How about 'pushy thug'?"

Carth is unimpressed. "Is that all?"

"Brainless, lice-ridden bantha! Labotomized Gamorrean! Sexless marshtoad!" She shoots off, one after the other, and then adds thoughtfully, "Fashion Disaster!"

The air ripples like water, and then Mission is standing in front of them, making a face. "…Did I miss something?"

"Just a friendly conversation." Revan tells her cheerily. "You did good, Mission."

"Sit back and enjoy the fireworks." Mission beams, her lekkus twitching with excitement. "Might want to step back, actually. To make sure you don't get caught in the blast radius when it begins to rain Rancor parts." They all comply before Carth turns to Revan, raising a brow.

"Ouch." He murmurs. "What was with the last one?"

"Your jacket is bright orange. It's not charming in the least." Revan says honestly. "Now then… is Onasi acceptable to you?"

"When you put it that way, how is it not?" He consents dryly. The next instance there is the wet sound of a frag grenade going off within the squishy confines of an enormous stomach.

Mission grimaces as she races back into the room. "Woah! The Vulkars are gonna have one heck of a time cleaning up this mess!"

"I don't envy them." The pilot shakes his head.

Revan wrinkles her nose; she didn't think the sewers could smell any worse and regrets to be proven wrong. She makes for the door, not waiting for the others to follow.

Mission trails behind with Zaalbar, glancing up at the Wookiee. "Those two are weird."

"They act like newborn pups." Zaalbar rumbles his agreement. "But they are also the same ones who rescued me. I have faith in their abilities."

"…Me too." The Twi'lek hums. "You shoulda seen 'em fighting the Rakghouls, Big Z. Half the time they were arguing right in the middle of killing the 'ghouls!"

"Do not worry me, Mission." The Wookiee barks. "Though I suppose shall see for myself, soon enough."

* * *

Mission proves invaluable in the Vulkar base, slicing through any and all security the swoop gang has. Revan is impressed – she's exceptional with droids, but give her a security terminal and she'd sooner smash it than slice it. Not to say she's useless with computers; she knew her way around programs, but nothing at the Twi'lek's level. As Revan she'd had _people_ to sort out the technical details, though in hindsight, she regrets placing that level of reliance on her crew.

"Mission, could you teach me how to do that?" She requests as the Twi'lek splices the heavily locked armory door.

"I guess so. And when I'm done with you, no lock will be able to stop you... _or _protect precious loot." Mission preens.

"Why do I not like the sound of that?" Carth grumbles.

The door slides open. "Ooh! Blasters!" Revan has never seen a young girl so enthusiastic about weapons. "Big Z – take your pick! Yes, I _know_ you have your bowcaster, but why not take a sword or something since we're already here."

Revan doesn't move to take anything. She's satisfied with her vibroblades – they've served her well through her 'Aria Year' – though she misses the weight of a lightsaber in her hands. Her swords don't have precisely the right balance, nor have they the same grace, and her combat ability suffers for it. She thinks wistfully to the lightsabers nestled safely in the apartment.

Carth stops beside her. "Not going to find a blaster or anything?"

"No need when I have my blades. Blasters are clumsy and random."

"So you're a bad shot." He surmises.

"I simply don't see the point in using a gun when I'm as effective with more familiar weapons."

"That wasn't a no." The pilot observes. Revan scowls and picks up a blaster after all. She'd show him–

"Woops!" A blaster bolt wizzes past their heads. Carth jerks back in surprise while Revan turns to the source. Mission is holding up a blaster rifle, looking mortified. "Sorry!"

Carth recovers and reprimands, "Careful with that! Do you even know how to use a rifle?"

"Zaerdra gave me a few lessons," Mission sniffs, "but I'm not an official Bek member, so the rest was self-taught till Zaalbar showed me. I _know_ how to shoot, and I'm a good shot!"

"Mission can be incautious, but she has learned well," adds Zaalbar.

Revan is unconvinced. "Well, we're all still alive, so I'll have to take your word for it." And she can't have Mission running around unarmed, though she's a little apprehensive about having the Twi'lek behind her with a firearm. Revan has already been shot in the back once, and she would be most agreeable if it never happened again.

They continue sneaking and fighting their way through the halls until they reach the garage. "This is where the map says the accelerator is." Mission declares. The place is guarded, if the security feed is correct, and Revan decides to head in first.

"Cover me." She orders the others. "They shoot, we shoot."

The Vulkars don't shoot. Instead, they try to turn them on the Beks, but Revan wouldn't have any of it. She's a kriffing ex-Sith Lord, not an errand runner! If these idiots think she's turning back without the accelerator, they'll be mistaken (and dead).

Kandon Ark is in the middle of his long-winded proposition when Revan takes a shot at him.

"You _missed_." Carth's expression is one of amazement. He's finding the whole thing far too funny.

"Focus, Onasi!" She snarls, tossing aside the worthless blaster and lunging at the nearest Vulkar (a female Twi'lek who makes sounds while attempting to murder her that should never be made outside of a bedroom – and Revan thought _she _had issues).

The battle is chaotic; the four of them, soldier, Twi'lek, Wookie, and ex-Sith Lord, have not found a rhythm in coordination. Mission is obviously not used to firefights with an ally running about in close combat, as she nearly hits Revan multiple times and stops to apologize; she would have been stabbed if not for Zaalbar's quick reflexes. At one point a Vulkar body flies straight at her, thanks to Zaalbar's enormous strength, and she is forced to pull an inelegant dive out of the way. Revan will later recall the event as one of the most disorganized fights she has ever participated in – cantina brawls included.

Finally they are the last ones standing, the Vulkars all lay on the floor, incapacitated or dead. Mission draws a deep breath. "Whew! Thanks for the save back there, Big Z." She pats the Wookiee on the arm.

"I can't believe you missed." Carth repeats his earlier statement as they make for the prototype accelerator.

"The damn blaster was broken." Revan swears. Maybe she should invest in blaster lessons after all.

"He was standing still!"

"Care to let me test the blaster on you?"

"I might be afraid if I hadn't just been witness to your marksmanship."

"I can throw in a couple of shooting lessons," Mission offers generously, "alongside the slicing lessons."

"Mission, it is best not to get involved." Zaalbar warns his friend. "Aria, what do you wish to do with the accelerator?"

"The thing's bigger than I imagined," Revan admits, studying the device, "would you please carry it back to the Beks for me?"

"As you wish."

* * *

Gadon Thek is generous when they return to the Beks' base smelling like wet Wookiee – worse, in Zaalbar's case. He provides them with board as well as a position to ride under the Beks banner in the upcoming swoop race.

But Revan's mostly grateful for the refresher. She's stood under the stream of hot water for so long that her fingers have pruned and her skin is a raw red. Any trace of the Undercity has been swept down the drain long ago. She feels relaxed for the first time since crash landing on Taris.

She _shouldn't_ be feeling utterly calm, if she thought about it. The swoop race is in two days and she'll be in the thick of it, riding on a swoop bike with a prototype engine accelerator that might explode. But Revan can't bring herself to care – she's so close to the goal, there are a mere two days between Bastila and her.

_If_ she can convince one uncooperative pilot to let her race. She knows Carth will have reservations, especially since _he's _the pilot, but like Gadon, Revan won't risk a valuable member of their party on an unstable swoop bike. Moreover, she doesn't want to be left alone to manage a Jedi, a Wookiee, and a teenager. She shudders at the thought.

There is a pounding on the door. "You've been in there for over an hour!" Mission complains.

"I'm sure this place has community 'freshers." She tells the Twi'lek over the sound of running water, unwilling to relinquish the shower just yet.

"Ugh – but there's _never_ any hot water! Hidden Beks are cool and all, but cleanliness is _not_ on their list of priorities."

In the end Revan takes pity on the girl. She dries, dons the simple robes the Beks provided (she's tossed her old clothes in the garbage), and steps out of the refresher, steam billowing behind her. "All yours." She gestures, "Mission, I am going to sleep for a very, _very_ long time. If anyone wants me, don't tell them where I am."

Mission mock salutes. "Got it, boss!"

* * *

It is an unpleasant surprise to find Carth waiting for her in their quarters. He's already cleaned up – maybe he'd gotten sick of the 'fresher queue and hit the community ones that Mission had complained about. She wishes he didn't look so serious. "Why the long face? Is it because I was hogging the 'fresher? If so I promise tomorrow you can have it first."

Carth smiles lightly. "No, it's not about the 'freshers, though I'm sure you used up a small lake with your shower." His lips quirk downwards as the seriousness returns. "We need to talk about the swoop race."

Revan pulls a face as she falls back on one of the unoccupied beds. "We really don't."

He tells her, predictably, "I'll be racing. We'll need a contingency plan."

"We really don't." She reiterates. She rolls onto her side and frowns at the man. He can be very contrarian, a trait Revan finds novel at times (no one ever argues with a Sith Lord) but frustrating when discussing important matters. "A contingency plan is made when we expect things to go south. And we _don't_ expect them to go south, because _I _am riding."

"I _know_ you're a capable woman, but this sounds a lot like overconfidence."

"I'm a very gifted person." Revan confesses modestly. "But that's not the only reason I should be the one on that swoop bike." She appeals to the rational side of him. "You're a Republic war hero, whereas I'm a hired gun with little influence on the war effort." She's detrimental to the war effort, actually, considering she'd lead the Sith to nearly conquer the Republic. But if she told him _that_, he'd _want_ the swoop bike to explode, and _then_ where would they be? So the ex-Sith Lord says instead, "The Republic has far more to lose with your death."

It's not a lie – the Republic would probably throw a party if she died. Revan wonders idly if they haven't already – she distantly recalls a drunken week of festivities held for some Republic victory and sincerely hopes she hadn't been drinking to her own death. She shakes off the thought and concludes, "and _that_ is why you are going to let me race."

Carth's mouth thins and his eyes harden in disagreement – _he's going to argue_, she thinks, aggravated and… pleased? But he's a soldier first, and finally his shoulders slump, heavy with resignation. "It seems that being important these days includes a lot of sitting on the sidelines."

She sighs. "Onasi, you do enough. Keep worrying and you're going to wake one day with a dozen gray hairs."

"I'm surprised my hair hasn't gone completely white by now. You're the most worrisome partner I've ever had." It's a good-natured quip and Revan decides to be sympathetic.

"Would it make you feel better if we made a contingency plan?" She offers.

"…Maybe? Honestly I just want people to stop dying on my watch." Carth confesses with a tiredness that goes further back than the Endar Spire.

"I'll try my best to avoid bodily harm, dismemberment, or death. I enjoy living, you see."

She earns dry smile. "Hilarious."

Revan adds considerately, "_But_ on the infinitesimal chance that something was to happen to me, I'm sure one of the Beks would pull through. And even if they don't, rescuing Bastila back from the clutches of a single Vulkar can't be too hard."

She then shuts her eyes and weighs the pros and cons of divulging her barely hatched plan of getting off Taris. She still has to meet with Canderous Ordo to establish that there _is_ a plan… but if the pilot later discovered that she'd been withholding information, he was sure to take it the wrong way. "Onasi, I'm going to meet with one of Davik Kang's agent tomorrow."

Carth is understandably speechless. She takes advantage of his silence to quickly explain.

"I'm meeting with Canderous Ordo. I want to use him to steal Kang's ship. We're also going to steal the Siths' launch codes from their base. That's our way off Taris – _your _way, if I meet an untimely end."

"I'm sorry, _what_? Are you _insane_? Since when do we make deals with criminals?" Carth regains his ability to speak, so an argument is not far behind. "Where did you…" He waves a hand to encompass the whole notion he's having trouble comprehending, "get this idea?"

"From a Hutt."

"Why would you trust a Hutt of all things? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

That's when Revan snaps. She hadn't even noticed the frustration building up. She never picked up the lessons of patience from the Jedi. "_Onasi_," she grounds out every syllable, "I am _telling_ you as we speak, even though it's your mistrust that has prevented me from disclosing this information earlier." _She _is the ex-Sith Lord here, _she_ should be the one mistrusting _him_! "It seems for every one step forward, we take two steps back. I've proven myself to you, and I've gone to great lengths to do so. I wandered the sewers for _hours_, I was bitten by a damn Rakghoul – in two days I'm going to be racing an effective bomb!"

The man is appropriately cowed. He winces and rubs the back of his neck. "…You're right, of course. We wouldn't have gotten this far without you. For a while now I've wanted to explain, at least, why it's so difficult for me to put so much faith in another person."

Revan sits up, expecting a story. Well at least they're getting somewhere.

"Five years ago the Jedi had just finished the wars with the Mandalorians. Revan and Malak were heroes and I was damn proud to have served in their fleet. It was completely unexpected when they turned on us, invading the Republic while we were still weak. No one knew what to think, least of all me. Our heroes had become brutal conquering Sith and we were all helpless before them. Think about it, if you can't trust the best of the Jedi, who can you trust?

"But… there were others who weren't Jedi, good men, trusted men, who joined them. Malak and Revan and the Sith deserve to die for that they've done, but the others who fled the Republic to join them are even worse. The dark side has nothing to do with them joining the Sith. They deserve no mercy.

It's not personal, it's just caution – I've been betrayed before by people and I… well, it won't happen again." He ends frankly.

Revan and Malak… it's horribly ironic that she's part of the reason for this man's trust issues that have given her so much grief. But the pilot speaks of the non-Jedi with more fervor, a hatred that is almost palpable. It's personal – someone he knew had betrayed him. He's not fooling her – Revan knows he isn't telling her the whole truth, and he isn't going to clarify.

Carth Onasi definitely plays his cards close to his chest. She can't fault him for it – they've only known each other for a few short days, and no matter the circumstance, there are things you want to keep to yourself.

But two can play at half-truths. "I'm not Malak, Onasi." _I'm Revan_. "I'm not one of those trusted men who joined them." _I'm the one who they joined_. "I've done… _little_ to earn your distrust." _Short term, anyway_. "I'm doing the best I can. All I'm asking for is a bit of confidence when I'm risking life and limb."

Onasi shifts uneasily. "I guess I can do that much. I should… apologize to you. I've become so accustomed to expecting the worst in others, and you've done nothing to deserve that. But… you'll understand if I still have my reservations."

_You can't teach an old kath hound new tricks._ Revan sighs, "Well keep your suspicions to yourself unless you think I'm about to do something _really_ stupid."

"Like meeting with the Exchange in a shady cantina. Or planning to infiltrate a Sith base." Carth points out.

"Yes, I suppose it sounds crazy," it _is _crazy, but Revan wouldn't try it if she didn't think she'd succeed, "but I suspect we're all somewhat not right in the head. We've agreed to a lot of outrageous tasks as it is, but we've pulled through every time and gotten the job done." She provides him with a confident smirk. "What's a reward without risk?"

"Throwing caution to the wind, are we?" He rolls his eyes. "Okay, you've got me. I'll let you sleep, but I'm coming with you when you meet the Exchange. And tomorrow you're getting up bright and early. I want to see if you can ride a swoop bike."

"Looking forward to it." Revan murmurs, head already buried in her pillow.

* * *

Revan is _not_ 'looking forward to it'. Carth drags her to the track at the crack of dawn as promised, and she fills up on as much caffa as possible.

"You're going to vibrate out of existence at the rate you're going." The pilot looks pointedly at the mug of caffa in her hands. She's undeniably jittery, though it's not only due to the warm beverage.

Revan has ridden a swoop bike once before. It had not been a pleasant experience. Swoop racing is a somewhat lethal sport, a fair amount of people watch it simply because someone will inevitably be scraped off the track (and while her previous line of work may have been hazardous, at least she'd had ground beneath her feet).

But cutting down risks is why she's here in the first place. "Gadon's lending us an extra swoop. Don't worry – no chance of this one exploding."

"Comforting."

"It's a reliable old model. Stable, easy to handle. The deflector shields will prevent accidents." He explains and runs a hand down the weathered side… _fondly_.

He's recalling old memories. They're pleasant ones, from a better time. "You're well-informed." She observes.

"I might have raced for a time, when I was younger." Carth confesses. "It's probably what got me into piloting. I never felt freer than behind the controls."

Revan tries to picture a young Carth, donned in a swoop jacket with a cocky grin on his face that only swoop racers could pull off. She stifles her laughter and grins widely. "Why Onasi, I never knew you had a wild side."

"What, you thought that I'd always been a Republic soldier?"

"With how straitlaced you are, you could've fooled me." She quips. "You gave me the impression of a family man – with a wife and kids… you listened to your parents and never broke any rules, volunteered in your local community, and in school you were the teacher's pet." Revan continues, painting a picture of just how _boring_ his upbringing must've been to produce such a person as Carth Onasi.

Carth is perturbed. "I'm concerned by how much thought you put into this."

"Putting stories to faces is an amusing way to pass the time." And since he's adamant about keeping his past to himself, she decided to make one for him.

"Well I'm afraid your story just that – a work of fiction." He tells her wryly, though there's an edge of wistfulness to it. He's quick to change the subject. "Enough about my personal life, I'm here to see if you can live up to your word. You know how to ride a swoop?"

Dare she risk honesty? "…I've raced before." She says carefully. Half-truths seem to be her livelihood these days. "However, a review of the basic controls would be nice before I hit the track." After that she'd have to rely on her innate talent to excel at everything she tries.

Armed with a helmet, a rudimentary explanation of how to control a swoop, and a bit of luck, Revan finds herself on the track going at speeds she would rather not go with little protection to save her from breaking her neck. The Force will only go so far in such a situation. She's reminded uneasily of the escape pod, but at least on the swoop she has a semblance of control. Her sense of self-preservation screams bloody murder, though there is a sense of exhilaration tentatively emerging. Maybe if she was a bit more unconcerned with her life, she could enjoy swoop racing.

The finish line comes into sight. With profound relief Revan activates the brakes and comes to a swift stop.

"35.59 seconds." Carth announces when she stumbles back while trying her best not to look like she's stumbling. "Not bad at all, but that's without any obstacles. Still, you have a knack for this." The pilot concedes reluctantly. She can tell the man would still rather ride in the race himself, even with the threat of an unstable prototype accelerator that could explode at any given time, than endanger someone else.

_That damn hero complex_, Revan rolls her eyes. Carth notices and frowns, confused. "What'd I do this time?"

She quickly makes up an excuse. The pilot would undoubtedly not welcome an assessment of his psyche. "You're underestimating me, Onasi, that's what!" She tosses him the helmet, challenge clear on her face. "How about a friendly race of our own? Loser buys dinner."

"We _share_ funds."

"That you know of." She retorts and sees that he's not opposed to the suggestion. A smile edges on the corner of his lips, until he breaks completely and laughs.

"All right, but you better get those credits ready. You might have talent, but I have experience."

"From half a century ago, maybe." Revan scoffs. "By now you're rustier than a droid in salt water."

"Was that a crack at my age? I've seen your records, sister – you're barely five years younger than me!"

"Have you no shame, Onasi? A woman's age is confidential information!"

He grins unashamedly and dons the helmet. "I'll apologize when you're paying for dinner."

* * *

"Are you well?" Zaalbar stands by the exhausted woman, concerned. It's already midday – she and Carth had remained on the swoop track until other racers began filtering in. She'd returned to the base with a windswept rat's nest for hair and a foul expression. The Beks were going out of their way to avoid her.

"I'd feel better if Onasi didn't cheat." Revan gripes, pounding a hand on the table. The pilot was not, in fact, a cheat, but accusing him of being one felt better than acknowledging his legitimate win.

"That is a serious accusation. Would you like me to confront him?" He asks. Revan studies his big black eyes and finds him serious. She considers the offer for a moment, tempted, before waving dismissively.

"That's nice of you, Zaalbar, but I don't think Onasi would appreciate being terrorized." Being a sore loser is never good for your reputation, either.

A thought strikes her and she stares at the Wookiee with interest. "I almost forgot. How'd Old Rukil take it when you brought him those datapads?" Unwilling to go herself, she'd sent Zaalbar back to the Undercity with the Promised Land datapads Mission had found, and a note.

"At first I could not even get close to him, but the tribe's chief did not let the old man run about for long. They did not understand me, but they understood the datapads I had brought them." Zaalbar tells her. She can imagine the sight – a lone Wookiee wandering around the village, growling in his Shyriiwook language that would only serve to frighten the villagers. That's why Mission and Zaalbaar are such an effective pair. One does the talking, the other provides the muscle – charm and intimidation go hand in hand, after all.

"I couldn't make heads or tails of those journals. Hope crazy ol' Rukil had a better time of it." Revan muses.

"They are grateful, Aria Blackmoor, for they found discovered something of great significance. They hail you as their savior." _Savior_? She can't help her bitter laughter.

"Force, I can't even _remember_ the last time I've been called that." She stills, catching her slip. She stares sharply at Zaalbar. "You'll forget what I said."

"Your past is your own. I am not one to pry, especially where it is unwanted." Revan can feel the truth of his words. Her lips quirk crookedly.

"I sense you and I are going to get along fine, even if you don't brush your teeth. Or shower."

"You sound like Mission! Wookiees do not brush their teeth." Zaalbar growls. "What next? A _comb_? I could not stand the indignity."

"But your breath would stop withering flowers and killing small animals." Revan reasons. "Oh well, nobody's perfect." She yawns abruptly and notices her fatigue. "…I'm gonna take a nap." Zaalbar makes a noise of acknowledgement but does not say a thing. _A Wookiee of few words_, she smiles.

Her nap lasts until evening. Revan wakes to a dark room. She quickly grabs her vibroblades and cleans up her appearance before heading out in search of one Republic pilot. She finds her sitting with Mission. The two seem to be arguing.

"I'm not a kid, Carth!" Mission's yelling when she reaches the table.

_What a surprise_. Revan rolls her eyes. "Insulting a woman's age again, Onasi?"

"He's an underestimating, predisposed, _jerk_." Mission sniffs, arms crossed and brain tails twitching. Revan's brows shoot up; she's not well versed in the subtle language of lekkus but she's sure those are some rather nasty insults. Although amusing (she'd have to ask the girl about it later), she has a meeting with a Mandalorian to make. She tilts her head toward the exit and stares meaningfully at Carth. The Twi'lek is uncooperatively perceptive and brightens. "Can I come?"

"Maybe next time," Revan says vaguely and to save herself from Carth's fate, adds, "and it's _not_ because I think you're a kid."

"You have a gift for angering women." She tells the pilot once they're out the door.

"More like a curse." Carth groans. "All I said was that Taris is no place for a kid to grow up and she snapped."

An orator by trade, Revan offers her advice. "Don't say stupid things like that."

"Thank you, that's very insightful."

"It'll be helpful when we're talking to Ordo." She shrugs. "Actually, don't say anything. Let me do the talking."

"I…" Carth trails off, his attention drawn elsewhere. She follows his gaze to the impressive figure of a man waiting outside of Javyar's. "Your Mandalorian?" He asks with an edge of ire; she can tell he has no love for Mandalorians.

"Let's find out." They approach the man who, Revan notes, is at least a head and a half taller than her, with battle hardened features and some wicked scars, to boot. Yep, definitely Mandalorian. "You're Ordo?" She inquires with her most severe expression (which is quite severe – she practiced in a mirror yesterday) and a warrior's stance (not hard – she's held herself like one for years). She needed to appear an equal. Or at the very least competent.

"Who wants to know?" He glares and places a hand on his blaster rifle. Carth moves his hands to his pistols in response.

"Aria Blackmoor. He's Carth Onasi." She answers and elbows the pilot, who stiffly moves his arms to his sides.

"I didn't expect you to bring a date." The Mandalorian stares her down mockingly.

"I lost a bet." She admits with an unwelcomed wrinkle of her nose. She doesn't have to see Carth to know he's rolling his eyes. "I didn't come here to be insulted, Ordo. I came here with a proposition. I'm sure you have little respect for Davik Kang, who hides behind his agents and controls through fear and dishonesty."

"What I think of my employers is of little consequence." Canderous grunts, but eyes her now with appraisal. "I'll hear what you have to say."

"Well then come. No self-respecting mercenary would make a decision without a few free drinks." Revan allows a tiny, eager smirk to grace her lips. In her peripheral she sees Carth looking at her oddly. She knows she must seem different to him – she _is _different, acting as a Mandalorian would approve. It's a much easier performance than the one she provided Yun Genda. Acting like a Mandalorian is easier than acting like a woman, and Revan is not concerned about the observation in the slightest. She passes Canderous with a swagger and enters Javyar's without looking back.

_A Mandalorian, an ex-Sith Lord, and a Republic soldier all walk into a bar. Why does it sound like the start of a bad joke?_

They settle in an unobtrusive end of the cantina and Revan hails a waitress. With three drinks on the way (Carth declines, but Revan ignores him – he needs some alcohol in his system if that tightness of his jaw says anything), she begins talking, her voice smooth and confident and persuasive.

"Whatever you might say, I can see that you hold a low opinion of Kang. I wish to employ you myself – perhaps my wages will not be as high, but the job will surely be more praiseworthy than being a disreputable enforcer for the Exchange."

"Don't drag this out, Blackmoor. Tell me the job or I leave." Canderous narrows his eyes.

"It's not as simple as that," she placates, offering an open hand, "it's a dangerous job, for sure, and telling you without an agreement will put me at great risk."

"So I'll have to take a contract I know nothing about?" The Mandalorian surmises, skeptical and annoyed.

"Or I could tell you, and if you disagree I'll kill you." Revan offers. Carth grips his newly arrived drink with white knuckles and she can sense his apprehension. It must be taking all of his self-discipline not to speak up; especially with the dangerous game she's playing with the Mandalorian. She's somewhat touched that he's taken their previous night's conversation to heart.

Canderous smirks. "Do you have a death wish?"

"You can tell I've seen my share of battles, and yet you underestimate me. Who's the foolish one? You must have been taught better than that." She quips, crossing her arms.

He bursts into full-blown laughter. It's deep and harsh, but amused. "You're brave. I don't know if it is because you're skilled, or plain stupid, but I'd like very much to see. All right, I'll take the job. In any case Davik hasn't been paying me as well as he promised, and I have a feeling this involves him in some way."

"So you have a brain behind those muscles of yours." She grins.

"Don't push your luck." The Mandalorian warns.

"Of course. I apologize. I need access to Davik's estate. I'm sure you can put a good word in for me."

"_Why _do you need this?" Canderous raises a brow.

"I'm going to steal his ship to get off this rock." She tells him honestly. "And don't tell me I can't because I don't have those kriffing Sith launch codes. I'll get them from the Sith's military base soon enough."

A silence falls on their party of three. Canderous takes a swig from his mug and stares at Revan with peculiar respect. "You're not lacking in confidence." He comments and shakes his head. "I can't come with you on your escapade into the Sith base. They'd recognize me and come banging on Davik's door. But I can provide you entrance. And if you can prove yourself in there – come back alive, with those codes, I'll gladly help you off this backwater planet, no matter the pay."

"Well Ordo, it seems we've reached an agreement." She beams and raises her mug. "To newfound partnerships."

"To paying Davik back." Canderous adds.

Carth reluctantly joins in when Revan elbows him. "To crazy women." He sighs.


	5. No Such Thing as Coincidence

**A/N: I apologize in advance for my horrible transitions. I'm probably going to tell the story in snippets, so you'll be seeing a lot more dividers in the future. Also I've added a few irrelevant moments to this chapter and I'm wondering if you lovely readers enjoy them or if you all scroll right past to find something more pertinent. Would you rather I skip any non-plot-functional scenes?**

* * *

**Chapter 5: No Such Thing as Coincidence  
**

The day of the swoop gang race Mission and Carth are more worried for Revan's well-being than she herself is. "I win or I don't," she tells them, annoyed by the attention, "so believe that I'll win."

Not to say that she isn't nervous. Ex-Sith Lords are people too (a fact that everyone in the universe seem to forget), and people get nervous. Especially when they're about to risk their life on a piece of metal going at ungodly speeds.

"I've never known a swoop racer personally, ya know?" Mission states, a little frown on her blue lips. "Beks are Beks, and while I hate it when one of them has an accident on the tracks, I don't get caught up on their deaths. But I know you, Aria, and I like you." She grips the woman's hand for a moment and gives it a light squeeze. "So, ya know?" The Twi'lek finishes.

"I know." She sighs. _Don't make the orphaned teenager sad, got it._

"Don't take too many runs on the swoop." Carth advises. "Try activating as many turbothrusters as you can, because we need the fastest time on the earliest run possible."

"We've been over this, yes." She acknowledges the pilot exasperatedly.

"You will win." Zaalbar tells her helpfully. Revan almost exhales loudly with relief. At least she can count on the Wookiee. How sad that the furry giant understands her best.

"Thank you." She picks at her breakfast. It's probably not a good idea to eat before riding a vehicle that will go six hundred kilometers per hour (and faster, if that accelerator works).

It's when they're nearing the tracks that Carth notices his concern is only adding to her anxiety. He throws her one of his patented smiles of encouragement and despite herself, Revan calms. "We made sure you'd be ready, yesterday, so you're not going in blind. And I meant it when I said you had knack with swoops."

"And when I win it's your turn to buy dinner. Zaalbar is like a black hole to my credits." She tells him. She would have to double her time at the pazaak table at this rate.

"When you win I'll even fund your drinking habits for the next week." The pilot affirms.

She's able to give a short smile before she turns to the swoop racing entrance. Her companions can't join her here. She goes in alone.

* * *

Bastila Shan is being held in a cage. It's not a Force cage, but an honest to goodness big metal cage. The Jedi can't escape – there's a neural disruptor around her neck. She's scantily clad, outfitted like a Twi'lek dancer for the lucky winner, and unlike Bastila's expression the outfit is very flattering; her natural good looks only draw more attention from the crowd.

_Can't bust her out with so many witnesses. I have to race_. Revan thinks in disappointment. _Maybe I can work on the collar, though_. She focuses on the object and takes a deep breath. If she isn't careful she just might fry the Jedi's brain trying to help her.

_Not that she doesn't deserve it_. She reasons darkly. It takes Revan a while to remember all the faces, but she recalls Bastila leading the Jedi strike team that ended inevitably with the Council's attempt to wipe her very existence from the galaxy. The woman may have a pretty face, but behind it are the teachings of an Order that had nearly granted Revan a fate she considers worse than death.

Another second of tinkering and the collar short circuits. She pays no further attention to the unconscious Jedi and waits for her name to be called onto the track.

It's a close race. One of the Vulkars – a Nikto named Redros – continues to not only top her swoop times but mock her for her failures until she nearly snaps, breaks her own rule on keeping a low profile, and Force chokes the bastard.

But she narrowly wins, swoop smoking alarmingly by the end of it, and breaks the Taris swoop record in the process. There are jeers mixed with the applause, but she still feels the pride of a hard-earned victory.

With the experience is safely behind her, Revan is able to wear a self-assured smirk that will certainly aggravate the Vulkars. Every time one of the gangsters looks in her direction, she bares her teeth. It's like poking a rancor with a stick, only more satisfying.

Good thing Revan is a krayt dragon.

Brejik doesn't know this or else he wouldn't have tried to withdraw Bastila as a prize.

"I don't think I'm hearing you right." She says slowly, a hand on her hip. "Swoop gang races have _rules_? And banthas fly. You're just peeved because I broke into your base, aren't you? Well I got news for you, buddy – I stole that accelerator back, fair and square! And now I'm going to claim _my _prize, which I won with the very same accelerator, _fair and square_."

"You all hear this woman!" Brejik proclaims with a grand wave of his arms. "She confesses her treachery. You cannot allow this charlatan to take the title of Taris Swoop Champion! You cannot let such indignity pass, on the honor of the Vulkars!"

"It's against traditions to withdraw a victory prize after the race." The swoop judge gives his input belatedly.

"You old fool, your traditions are nothing to me – I am the wave of the future!" The Vulkar leader proclaims, as if a god among men. Revan is certain the man is not right in the head. "If I want to withdraw the prize and sell this woman on the slave market, nobody can stop me! Vulkars – to me! Kill the swoop rider!"

The Vulkars are stirred by their leader's enthusiastic if duplicitous speech. Like zealots they swarm her. Or bees. She'd upset the hive outstandingly.

Revan is more concerned the instance they all go flying.

"I might have something to say about that, Brejik." Bastila Shan says primly, stepping out of her cage and entering the fray with an effective bang. Her expression is cold, but behind her mask Revan can feel the fury brewing from being caged and treated like an animal.

Revan can _really_ feel it. It isn't normal how easily she's able to read the Jedi's current state of mind. However there is no time to consider the discovery as the Vulkars recover.

Brejik gapes. "What? Impossible! You were restrained by a neural disruptor! How could you have possibly summoned the will to free yourself?"

Bastila looks far more wrathful than a woman in a skimpy dancer's getup should. "You underestimate the strength of a Jedi's mind, Brejik–" _more like 'you underestimate a certain swoop rider and her sabotage of the neural disruptor'_,"a mistake you won't live to regret!" The supposed Jedi is certainly not acting the role of a Jedi, with her vows of vengeance, but Revan is happy to help.

A man lunges at her the next instance; she evades the attack, grabs his arm, and twists his wrist until he drops his vibroblade into her ready hands. She promptly slits the man's throat and shoves him aside, concentrating on Bastila and the enemies surrounding her. She fights her way to the Jedi's side and soon they are back-to-back, finishing off the remaining Vulkars.

Fighting together with Bastila is different than fighting beside Carth. With the soldier there is teamwork and strategy and camaraderie (and witty exchanges), but with Bastila it is like the flow of the tide, every movement natural and smooth. Revan thinks a Jedi's movement in combat has always looked choreographed, as if a dance, but the way she and Bastila are able to predict and assist each other is more than that – it's to the point of eerie.

It's helpful for making short work of the Vulkars, though. "That's for being a bad sport!" Revan snarls as she impales her stolen vibroblade in Redros' stomach and _twists_. The Nikto gurgles blood and Bastila mercifully finishes him off, to Revan's disappointment. All that's left is Brejik, who stands furiously over his fallen allies. "Brejik," Revan smiles widely even as her eyes keep their disdain, "I despise slavers and stupid people. You, my friend, are both."

"I can only trust myself to get the job done." Brejik mutters to himself. "I'll kill you both!"

He doesn't, of course.

She kicks the recently deceased Vulkar leader once for good measure before she loots his corpse. On him are a double-bladed lightsaber and a fair amount of credits, and Revan rises with a pleased smile because she's found funding for Zaalbar's meals for at least a week.

The smile doesn't last. She sees her Jedi companion and once again _feels _the woman's emotions, all too strongly. There is terror as Bastila looks upon her. She doesn't see Aria Blackmoor, the mercenary, but Revan, the Sith Lord, standing over the people she's slaughtered without a care in the galaxy.

And then she feels nothing but her own alarm. Bastila regards her neutrally.

"Er… surprise? You're saved!" Revan says dimly. She's distracted by her racing thoughts, mind working quick enough to make her head spin. "Name's Aria Blackmoor. I'm that mercenary you Jedi hired." She adds to calm the Jedi.

There's another moment while she's silently assessed and then Bastila's crossing her arms. "As far as rescues go this is a pretty poor example." She scoffs. Revan has to take a second to register the remark. She is_ not_ in the mood for bad attitudes, but if the woman's criticizing her, she's at least recovered from her fit, which can only be a good thing (she has to reassure herself of this, because at the moment she only feels annoyed).

"Shan you can call it whatever you want but Brejik's dead and you're out of the cage." Revan frowns, somewhat irritated. "Get your things so we can leave – I don't want to remain at the scene of the crime if any more Vulkars show up. And..." She raises a brow, eying the woman from head to toe. "You might want to change into a less conspicuous outfit."

Bastila nearly jumps as she realizes what she's wearing. She flushes angrily. "Brejik! The pig–" She inhales sharply and closes her eyes. The next moment she's cool and composed. Revan thinks such sudden mood shifts can't be healthy. "I shall take your advice...I believe that is my lightsaber." Bastila stares at the metal hilt in Revan's hands. The Jedi doesn't seem inclined to get any nearer (Revan hopes that won't remain a problem in the future, because it'll be damn awkward at the dinner table) so she tosses the weapon to her. "…Thank you. Now I'll need to dress and we can be on our way."

Bastila's robes aren't of the usual style. Revan supposes when you're saving the Republic, you have to look your best, but wishes the Jedi's robes were more functional as they take more than five minute to put on. And _finally_ they're off.

"...So tell me, what exactly were you doing in a swoop race?" Bastila begins once they've put a suitable distance between themselves and the swoop track.

"Saving you." Indignation appears on the Jedi's face the moment she says it.

"I–"

"Hardly call that a rescue." Revan finishes, this time without help from spooky emotion-reading abilities. "Shan, I don't want to hear it. I've had one hell of a time busting you out, and I didn't go through all the trouble just to get a lecture."

"I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on you. You did _try_ to save me after all, even if it didn't quite go as planned." Bastila reluctantly concedes. "We should focus on more important matters, anyhow. As I've been indisposed until now, I require a report of recent events."

"Onasi and I crashed on Taris. We ran errands until we found you. Now we're working on a way to get off of this damn rock."

"Onasi? Commander Carth Onasi is alive?" Bastila exclaims, surprised. Revan is somewhat insulted by the relief she sees when she mentions Carth – she isn't _that _bad of company, is she? "Maybe I misjudged you. Carth wouldn't have sent you if he wasn't confident in your... abilities. Forgive me – despite my Jedi training, I still tend to act a bit rashly sometimes."

"I can believe that." She snorts. Bastila does not dignify her with a response.

Revan completely forgets about the odd feelings the Jedi had given off.

* * *

"You were awesome!" Mission greets them when they enter their quarters in the Bek's base. She bounds over with Zaalbar, smiling brilliantly. "I saw you on the terminals – you beat the Taris swoop record!"

"I'm glad you're okay." Carth tells her. "You took so long that we were prepping to head to the track ourselves."

"Brejik was going to cheat me. We had a heart-to-heart." More like sword-to-heart. "He saw reason in the end, but thanks anyway."

The pilot throws her a smile and turns to Bastila, who's surveying the base and the people quietly. He nods in acknowledgement. "Bastila, it's good to see you alive."

"And I you." The Jedi greets before diving straight to business. "Commander, Aria has informed me that you're looking into a way off of Taris?"

"The Sith have quarantined the entire planet. No one's getting off Taris at the moment without the proper launch codes. We have… a tentative plan, though we've yet to act on it." Carth summarizes.

Bastila frowns. "A '_tentative_ plan'? I suppose it's better than none." She glances from her to Carth with what Revan imagines is an upturned nose, and says, "And now that I'm back in charge of this mission, perhaps we can start doing things properly. Hopefully our escape from Taris will go more smoothly than when you "rescued" me from Brejik."

Revan scowls and starts to wish she'd left that neural disruptor on the Jedi. She's about to make a rude rejoinder when Carth speaks up.

"I know you're new at this, Bastila, but a leader doesn't berate her troops just because things aren't going as planned. Don't let your ego get in the way of the real issues here."

_Ouch_. Revan has newfound appreciation for the pilot.

The Jedi does not have that same appreciation. She narrows her stormy grey eyes indignantly. "That hardly strikes me as an appropriate way of addressing your commander, Carth. I am a member of the Jedi Order and this is my mission. Don't forget that! My Battle Meditation has helped the Republic many times in this war and it will serve us well here I'm sure."

The outrage Revan held a moment ago has slipped away entirely. A power struggle is not how she had imagined their reunion, though she's finding it undeniably entertaining and silently roots for the pilot.

Carth is speaking now, his tone reprimanding. "Your talents might win us a few battles, but that doesn't make you a good leader! A good leader would at least listen to the advice of those who have seen more combat than she ever will!"

Even if it's entertaining she wonders if she should cut in. A fight between allies can't be good for morale.

"You know I had my doubts about this mission but I figured the Jedi council wouldn't put you in charge if you weren't prepared. But here you are, acting like a spoiled child!" Carth goes on.

Yes, she should _probably_ stop this from escalating. Probably. Maybe.

Mission saves her the effort, having enough of the spectacle. She interrupts loudly. "Guys! Aria just broke a decade old swoop record. I can't believe you're at each other's throats when we should be celebrating. Sides, Zaalbar's missing his meal." The Wookiee roars in agreement.

Bastila seems to deflate while Revan is amused that the teenage Twi'lek displaying the most maturity out of all of them. "Yes... You're right, of course." The Jedi agrees softly. She turns to the pilot with a stiff nod. "I apologize, Carth. This has been a difficult time for me. Of course I'm happy to listen to your advice. What do you suggest we do?"

"First, we're heading to our apartment in the Upper City. It'll be best to discuss any ideas without the risk of being overheard." The pilot gestures toward the door leading to the rest of the Hidden Bek base. The next moment his lips quirk upward in a faint smile. "Afterwards… I'll go with Mission's idea. We should grab something to eat. You're probably starving and there's no use planning on an empty stomach."

"I'm fine." Bastila promptly disagrees. "We shouldn't waste time."

"You can go hungry, then," Revan says, "but _I_ want food. And when you're swooning from hunger I'm not going to share, and you can't blame us for letting you starve."

The Jedi huffs. "Very well. I'll take a light meal, but at least bring the food back to the apartment."

Carth reassures her. "We can compromise."

* * *

"You couldn't warn me?" Revan asks Carth as they head back to the apartment. Bastila is a ways in front of them, and even further are Mission and Zaalbar. There's little chance of being overheard.

"Warn you about what?"

"Shan. There was no warning about insufferable Jedi who don't know the definition of humility. Do you know she still hasn't thanked me for rescuing her?"

Carth shakes his head and smiles. "She isn't that bad…" A dubious look from Revan and he sighs, "Okay, she can be pretty bad."

"Absolutely _pedantic_." _A mindless Jedi who obediently follows the Jedi Code and thinks she knows better for it than the rest of the galaxy_. Revan had never been able to stand all those stuffy traditions. The Jedi called her willful; she called it having a mind of her own.

The pilot laughs outright at that. "Not quite how I'd describe her."

"I'm serious." She insists. "How did you deal with her on the Endar Spire? I feel bad for you just thinking about it." Revan's met worse in her time, but the Jedi isn't going to be winning any Charming Personality awards.

"Bastila's an invaluable asset to the Republic, even if she's difficult to work with. I think… it's difficult to be in her position." Carth muses. "She's just a young woman, barely into adulthood, and yet she's relied upon to win a war."

Revan can relate all too well, but she doesn't remember having such a big ego. She's unsympathetic. "Doesn't excuse her for belittling my rescue. _I_ think I was rather gallant."

"You did save the damsel in distress." The pilot agrees. "Congratulations, by the way. You were amazing in the swoop race. I owe you dinner."

"Don't forget the drinks." She reminds him. "Maybe that's what Shan needs – a couple of warm Corellian ales to loosen her up. Why, she may even smile!"

Carth automatically is against it. "Don't even think about it. The last thing we need is a drunken Jedi."

Revan sighs disappointedly – Bastila probably would need an ungodly amount of drinks, anyhow.

* * *

Revan heads out the next morning to pick up the utility droid. Mission comes along because the Twi'lek likes her company, and where Mission goes, Big Z is not far behind.

"I don't normally see a group like yours." Janice, owner of Droids by Janice, comments bemusedly when they arrive in her shop.

"We aren't very normal." Revan agrees and leans against the counter. "We're here to pick up a droid for Canderous Ordo."

The Twi'lek's face lights up and the next second she's far more welcoming. "Oh, Canderous sent you! Well why didn't you say so? Okay, the droid is ready. You can have it for 2000 credits."

"2000 credits? That's outrageous – do we even _have_ that m-" Revan subtly kicks Mission.

"My friend means to say that the price is quite… steep. How about half that, and we'll put in a good word with Davik." She proposes, using the cool tone of persuasion.

"I… it's hard to make ends meet up here, as a Twi'lek." Janice frowns, shaking her head. "Non-humans aren't welcomed. Few people are willing to do business with me."

Revan is about to continue bartering when she sees Mission softening beside her and knows she'll have to compromise. "1500 credits. That's my final offer." She sighs.

Janice caves shortly. "Okay," she decides, "T3-M4 is one of my best custom works, take good care of it."

And then Revan is 1500 credits poorer and one droid richer. T3-M4 beeps as it follows the three of them back to the apartment. "It's kinda cute." Mission states as she walks backwards to study the little droid.

Revan silently agrees. She's always had a soft spot for droids; unlike most sentients she meets, droids are reliable. They don't operate outside of their set of parameters. They're helpful, predictable, and therefore trustworthy. "I used to have a droid." She declares vaguely.

"What happened to it?" The Twi'lek turns to her curiously.

"I misplaced him."

Mission snickers at the confession. "Really? You don't seem like the forgetful type." _What an ironic choice of words._

"I'm… not. This was bad luck." She admits a tad regretfully. She misses HK-47. He was a funny droid, for a hunter-killer assassin.

T3-M4 beeps. Revan smiles crookedly. "I promise not to misplace you T3."

They walk in silence until Mission blurts out, "Thanks Aria."

She tilts her head, puzzled by the gratitude. "Why?"

"For paying that Twi'lek more than you wanted to." Mission's looking the opposite direction, embarrassed. She's tough, Mission. She has to be to survive alone on the streets until she'd met Zaalbar. Revan knows she probably doesn't open up to a lot of people, even if she's a good-natured kid. "She's right – it's not easy on Taris if you're not a human."

"I hate Taris and its racism… among other things. I don't fancy being affiliated with egotistical Tarisians – no offense." Revan states frankly. "And you had that look Onasi gets when he's about to do something morally upstanding. I didn't want to cause any scenes."

Mission only looks at her and smiles. How can that girl be so _peppy_? Revan inwardly groans as a thought comes forth, unwelcomed – _maybe I'm growing old_. Her age-related woes are cut off by a child's laughter.

"Get out of here you four-eyed freak!" The child's voice rings out cruelly. Revan spots the owner and a young girl dancing around a cowering Ithorian, tossing stones at him with every few steps.

"Hey you jerks – leave him alone!" Mission shouts before Revan has a chance to react.

"What're you gonna do? Touch us and you'll go straight to prison!" The girl taunts and tosses a rock at the Twi'lek. "Go back to where you belong. Your kind isn't welcome here."

"How about me?" Revan steps in with a cold smile. "You brats should learn to pick your targets wisely."

"Why would you care what happens to your slaves?" The boy glares. He isn't too bright. She strokes the hilt of a vibroblade as her smile widens.

"They're amusing. I like them." Her tone is light though her actions are not.

"Nobody likes their kind!" The boy decides to keep arguing. But the girl understands the situation and turns meek, dropping the rocks in her arms.

"M-maybe we should go…" She whispers.

"Or you can stay and play with my Wookiee friend." Revan suggests. "Children are the tastiest, I hear." Zaalbar growls deeply. The boy finally sees he's in over his head and allows the girl to pull him away. They run, terror on their faces.

"T-thank you…" The Ithorian says gratefully.

"Nothing makes my day like terrorizing bratty children." Revan tells him with satisfaction and notices Mission staring at her. She stares back. "What?"

"So much for not making a scene." But the girl's snickering.

"Just don't tell Onasi I threatened to feed kids to Zaalbar. Your acting was beautiful, by the way."

The Wookiee nods. "You continue to prove worthy of my life debt."

"That was great." Mission grins. "Thanks Aria… for letting me and Big Z come along."

"You didn't give me much of a choice." Revan says dryly. "Just promise me you'll make nice with Onasi."

Mission instantly scowls, her lekkus twitch in irritation. "He thinks I'm some helpless little kid!"

"So you're going to bicker like Shan would?

The girl's shoulders droop at the comparison. She groans. "Fine. Maybe I'll apologize for yesterday."

"Good. I don't want you growing up like Shan."

"You sound like my mom or something."

"Say that again and see if I ever let you kill another Rancor." Revan glares warningly.

"Think I'm okay with my title of One-Time Rancor Slayer." The Twi'lek grins cheekily.

"You don't have a mother, anyways… do you?" Revan backtracks out of interest. She's assumed the girl is an orphan, though Mission hasn't outright spoken of her family. And if she has family… the ex-Sith Lord hopes she won't be adding the kidnapping of teenaged Twi'leks to her extensive list of felonies.

Thankfully (or unfortunately?), her assumption is right. The wistful expression on Mission's face speaks volumes. "No parents, though I got a brother named Griff – I'd rather not talk about him. Sorry, it's just… complicated. Zaalbar's family, and that's good enough for me." She tells her earnestly.

"Oh? Well don't worry, I won't ask any more questions." She likes the Twi'lek enough to respect her past for her own.

"No–" Mission says quickly, "I don't mean that you can't ask me _anything_. I just get kinda worked up when it comes to Griff. I – I like talkin' to you about other things – have someone else know me better. Big Z ain't the chatty type." She slaps the Wookiee lightly on the arm for emphasis.

"You know… Onasi should take a page out of your book. He'd certainly become more bearable." Revan declares abruptly. The Twi'lek obviously has no idea what she's talking about, but laughs anyway.

"I'd pay for you to say that to Carth's face."

"I'd make the deal if I didn't know I'd get an earful."

* * *

While Revan acquired T3-M4, Carth had set off to scout the area around the Sith base. He's still gone when she, Mission, and Zaalbar return to the apartment. The rest of the day is therefore spent in unproductive bliss.

Revan hits the cantina and leaves everyone to their own devices, bent on enjoying the downtime while she has the chance. The time flies by in a blur of shady pazaak games, booze, and bad music. Prior to her year as Aria she'd never been so self-indulgent, even if she's always enjoyed the finer things in life. She accepts it as a consequence of having two sets of memories – it's easier not to think at all and Revan seeks distractions almost involuntarily.

She arrives back in the dead of night, expecting everyone to be asleep. The room is dark when she enters, though a figure stirs at her entry. "Aria." Bastila greets tiredly, sitting up in her bed. Revan suspects the woman has been waiting for her.

She kicks off her boots and takes a place near the bed, wrapping a blanket around herself before replying. "Why're you still up?"

"I wished to talk to you." The Jedi says softly. "I've been reflecting on what you've told me, about your first days on Taris – before I joined you."

Revan rolls her eyes. The woman still can't admit to being rescued. "And what do you think?" She mutters and questions if she's going to like hearing what Bastila has to say.

"It's… odd. It couldn't have been an easy task to find me. Yet somehow you managed. You also avoided detection by the Sith, discovered I was a Vulkar prisoner, gained sponsorship to the race and became the Taris Swoop Champion."

"I think it's called talent." Revan provides helpfully.

"Or perhaps…" Bastila trails off. Her eyes catch Revan's and she studies her cautiously. "I can feel it. You are Force sensitive Aria."

Maybe Bastila thought she'd be surprised – she sure built up to the revelation. Revan considers pretending to be surprised, but if she says more than a few words she might accidentally blurt out 'I knew that already' just to show the Jedi up. "Huh." She chooses to say.

"I'm sure this is hard to take in," the woman mistakes her ineloquence for shock, "but a good night's sleep will help." Bastila's looking at her again with that annoying carefulness. She supposes the Jedi has a right to be.

Revan shuts her eyes and rests against the wall. "You're right." She murmurs, wanting to consider the new information without interruption. She has no specific idea as to why Bastila has chosen to tell her this and it's troubling. Is the Jedi trying to reintroduce her to the Force? Even if Bastila's under the assumption that her memories as Revan are gone, why would she take the risk?

She knows the Council is behind the grand design, and the notion leaves her in a restless sleep.

* * *

Bastila is staring her down. Revan can't recall doing anything wrong, but obviously she has or the Jedi wouldn't look positively _fierce_. She has her yellow doublebladed lightsaber in her hand, the weapon humming with energy – she's even dropped into the Makashi fighting stance.

_But that's for fighting other Jedi._ No – Bastila can't have found out. There's obviously been a misunderstanding – she'd insulted her in some way.

Revan tries to ask if she'd accidentally offended the Jedi and if there's any way she can resolve the problem without being threatened at the end of a lightsaber. Revan wants to tell her that she never said the Jedi's pigtails were for three-year-olds, and that if Mission told her anything of the sort then she was lying. But Revan quickly discovers her vocal chords don't want to cooperate.

There's the whirr of another lightsaber coming to life – no, wait, it's _her lightsabers_, casting an unearthly red glow on the room. She's too mystified to be happy to have them back. _The hell is going on?_ She's raising the weapons, about to meet Bastila in mortal combat because the woman takes offense much too easily, when the ship suddenly quakes.

Wait – ship?

Revan jerks awake and hits her head on the metal bedframe of Bastila's bed.

"You okay?" Carth asks from his seat, though makes no move to help. There's the smell of caffa wafting through the room and a mug of it in the pilot's hands. That's right – they'd 'borrowed' a caffa machine from the Hidden Beks. It was the least the swoop gang could do after Revan had inadvertently won their gang war for them (Gadon had probably plotted it all out, too, the crafty son of a blaster).

"Pour me some of that and I will be." She shuffles to the table and takes a chair for herself. Carth hands her a cup wordlessly and they sit in an easy silence.

Her head is throbbing and the confusion from the dream remains. It had been a memory-dream – her last moments as the Sith Lord Revan. She doesn't know _why _she'd had such a dream. Close contact with Bastila Shan?

_She told me I was Force sensitive, and suddenly I'm having dreams of my life as a Sith Lord._ It can't be a coincidence. At the risk of thinking like a stuffy old Jedi, she knows there are rarely coincidences with the Force. Bastila must be related to the problem, and the insight makes it too difficult to sit quietly and drink caffa.

"Where's Shan?" She asks suddenly.

"Refresher."

Revan stands up, heads straight to the refresher, and bangs on the door. Carth stares at her bemusedly. She pretends not to notice and continues knocking. "Shan, I need to talk to you."

An irritated Bastila steps out the next second, hair still wet. "What?"

"I'm having visions." She tells the Jedi bluntly. Bastila's eyes grow wide, though there's a distinct lack of surprise. Perhaps not _that_ distinct, if Revan thinks about it, since she's an expert at reading people (had to be, to root out all the liars and traitors).

Either way, her suspicions are growing by the second.

"A vision? A vision of what?" Bastila inquires, that fake-surprise still on her face.

"Of you. Fighting a dark Jedi. Revan, I guess." She watches the Jedi closely as she submits her own name. Bastila is troubled, but unsurprised. _As if she expected the answer. _Alarms go off in Revan's head.

"Visions? Dark Jedi? I'm obviously missing something." Carth interrupts.

"No one likes an eavesdropper Onasi." She doesn't even look at the pilot. Her impatient need to confront Bastila may come back to bite her, but Revan isn't even sure if Carth will be sticking around after Taris. If so, he wouldn't have time for an interrogation. There's no big secret being revealed anyway – unless Bastila deems it so.

"My mistake." Carth apologizes with obvious sarcasm. There's no way he _won't_ hear the conversation, when he's in the same cramped room and they're talking noisily.

Bastila ignores him as she studies her inquisitively. She's _always_ studying her – Revan may as well be a science experiment. "…This is a matter best left to the wise Masters of the Jedi council. Once we escape Taris, we can seek the guidance of the Council, if you wish. They will understand the significance of your vision… if there is any." She suggests. "However, I think it would be best if we all stayed focused on the task at hand right now."

"All right." Revan forces lightness in her tone. Bastila wants to bring her to the Council. The Council wants to see her. She can't continue to press Bastila without raising suspicions, but Revan wants answers. Badly. Her willpower screams from the strain, though proves itself as she sits back at the table.

A headache gnaws at her skull. Revan is not a happy customer. She turns to the pilot, all business.

"Onasi, how goes the job?"

Thankfully Carth doesn't press her about the previous conversation. He probably will – later – when they don't have such an enormous task hanging over their heads. For now, he answers, "Mission and Zaalbar offered to keep a lookout today. We have to find a space of time when the entrance to the base is clear."

"So no chance we'd go tomorrow." Revan sighs. She'd have welcomed the distraction – even (or especially) of the life-threatening variety.

Carth shakes his head. "None at all. We only have one chance at this – we can't screw it up."

Then there's only one option. "If you need me, I'll be in the cantina." She tells the pilot and the Jedi as she heads out the door.


	6. Your Favorite Color

**A/N: I apologize if this chapter isn't up to par. It just didn't want to be written! It was like smashing my head against the wall. I even downloaded a typewriter emulator to inspire myself. I suppose it worked since the chapter is finally finished, though the quality has suffered. **

**I've decided to take some time to reply to lovely reviewers too. You guys are fantastic.**

**Lupis Lunae**: Thank you! The reason I wanted to write this story is to study Revan. I'm absolutely fascinated by the character and it seemed like a fun concept to play with.  
**Shootingstar7123**: Thanks for the boost of confidence, you big flatterer. I'm glad you're enjoying it! And I'm having way too much fun humanizing Sith Lords.  
**Lordban**: Hehe I'm looking forward to writing out all that drama.  
**ZeroRequiem21**: Your words make me happy. I'm relieved Revan's character is acceptable! And I will take your advice to heart. I've always loved focusing on characters. Character-driven stories are my favorite ones.  
**Kate**: Oh goodness I'm glad someone likes the summary! I've always had problems with those things. I'll try my best writing Revan's conversation with the Jedi Masters. We all know she has no love for those old coots.

**Because I love you guys so much I'm updating a day early. Tune in next Wednesday for chapter 7!**

**Final part of Taris. Enjoy! And as always, constructive criticism is always welcome and will improve the story to the enjoyment of everyone.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Your Favorite Color**

The next week is spent scouting and planning and generally has Revan lounging in either the apartment or the cantinas. But she can't handle sitting idle with thoughts swirling like a hurricane through her skull. It's very noisy, and very irritating.

First, she spends an unreasonable amount of time at the pazaak table. But before long she's banned, and her career as a pazaak shark is cut short. So Revan takes on dueling. Carth (and especially Bastila) doesn't approve of the attention she gains, though the credits she rakes in is another story. And that's how the legend of the Mysterious Stranger is born – a melodramatic title that Revan approves of. She's always had a fondness for theatrics, if her Sith Lord getup gave any indication. Also – as Mission says – the Mysterious Stranger sounds _really awesome_.

Soon the Mysterious Stranger is the new Taris Dueling Champion. She picks up two major titles in the span of two weeks, and Revan calls that a job well done.

The week is amusing, but when Carth finally gives the go ahead, Revan jumps right into the mission. She's eager to leave Taris, and even more eager to find some answers.

It's only her, Carth, and T3 heading out. It takes a long time to convince Bastila and an even longer time to convince Mission. But subtlety is the key to success; she can't take giant Wookies, disruptive teenagers, and the Sith's Most Wanted into a secure Sith military compound and expect to get the job done quickly and quietly. Besides, Revan is most comfortable working with the pilot. They may have their differences, but they're a good team.

No one's watching as T3 slices the outer security, and no one sees two people and a droid slip through.

T3 is made to wait by the reception desk. Revan persuades (terrifies) the receptionist into leaving to give the droid free access to the security terminal to upload any relevant information (and mess with any Sith).

The Sith's protective measures are as impressive as they are annoying. The codes couldn't be found in their database – the Sith governor has taken it upon himself to prevent the information from falling into the wrong hands. So their destination is the governor's quarters.

They run into a few Sith on their way, though T3 deals with most of the problems, scrambling Sith communications, covering their appearance on any surveillance, overloading machinery, and generally being a brilliant nuisance. Revan deems the droid the best 1500 credits she's ever spent.

T3 even helps them when they stumble across an imprisoned Duros. The alien is freed and gratefully escapes through the wake of their destruction. Revan notes to have words with whoever designed the prison security.

Less than an hour later she and Carth are stepping over a disabled assault droid to ride the elevator down to the governor's quarters.

"This was easy. I like doing this more than I liked wandering through those sewers." Revan says cheerily as they wait in the elevator. "And you called me crazy."

"I still think you're crazy." Carth raises a brow.

"Since you've been going along with my plans, that isn't saying much."

"Someone has to keep an eye on you." The pilot says. "You're a bit reckless, you know."

"Only when necessary." And she wouldn't call it reckless when she knows she'll come out unharmed. Perks of being a powerful Force user.

"All the same, it's worrying." Carth sighs. The elevator doors slide open.

The Sith governor is meditating when they arrive. His eyes snap open and his expression contorts to one of anger. "Who dares break my mediation? You will pay for interrupting my – wait." The anger transforms into interest. "I sense the Force is strong with you. Very strong." He considers Revan with hungry eyes. "Who would have thought that a Force Adept could be found on this insignificant planet?"

She considers him coolly. Her connection with the Force is not a discussion she wants to have. She gets straight to the point. "We need your launch codes. Care to hand them over? Save us all a bit of time?"

The governor laughs, cold and cruel. "What a farce. I'm afraid you've met your end, though I do applaud you for getting this far. It is a stroke of luck, in all honesty. My master will surely reward me with my lightsaber once I kill you."

Revan is not impressed. The man has some ability with the Force, but he's no threat if he hasn't even earned a lightsaber. He's a dirty politician, not a Dark Jedi. Revan has no qualms about killing either. "You're welcome to try, baldy." She flashes her teeth.

The governor lunges forward and Carth provides fires. The blaster bolts are absorbed – the man knows how to put up a Force shield. But like an energy shield, it's useless against a solid blade. Metal clashes against metal as they exchange blows, but the governor isn't anywhere near as experienced as Revan. He inevitably slips, leaving an opening, and she takes it and drives a vibroblade through his ribs.

She pulls the blade out and wipes the blood off using the dead man's robes. Carth downloads the launch codes from the man's personal computer and they take their leave. They head back using a different route than the one they came from, silent until they reach T3 and slip out of the Sith base.

"What was he talking about – the whole Force adept thing. In fact, the whole deal with the Jedi is something I'd like an explanation on." The pilot asks when they're a reasonable ways away.

Revan bites the inside of her cheek. She isn't looking forward to explaining. "It's nothing to concern yourself with." She says carefully. "Bastila has it taken care of."

"It is when we're working together." Carth looks at her pointedly. "You were the one who said that my suspicions were unfounded, and but it seems like you _do _have some connection with the Jedi."

She pauses at the observation. It's true, she supposes, but she frowns. "I hope you're not about to tell me that you don't trust me again. I think we've established the fact quite thoroughly."

"No! I'm not. I just… I don't know. I want some answers, maybe." Carth runs a hand through his hair. He looks agitated.

"Onasi. I don't pry in your personal life, and you don't pry in mine." Revan likes to know everything about people, but doesn't enjoy having people know about her, for obvious reasons.

The pilot is ready to argue. "But I _did_ say I'd answer your questions. Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"I hardly call those answers." Revan sniffs.

"Because you never did ask any questions after I agreed to answer them."

She smiles slyly. "So you'd tell me why you're so grumpy if I _were_ to ask?"

"Of course I would! Wait. I'm… You're the most frustrating woman I've ever met." The pilot groans, realizing she's turned the conversation around.

Revan takes pity on him, patting his shoulder. "How about a game? I answer a question then you have to answer one." Maybe _then_ he'll finally give her some _real_ information to his past, and they can all get on with their lives. Plus, there's no harm to lying if she can't tell him the truth.

Carth considers the proposition. He nods slowly. "Go ahead."

She puts forth her question neutrally. "What's your favorite color?"

He obviously doesn't expect it. In all honesty Revan asks impulsively – she enjoys messing with the man. Carth is surprised and more than a little confused. His gaze is wary as he says, "Gray."

"I think I'd be hard pressed to make trouble out of your favorite color." Revan laughs. "Don't look so suspicious. Anyway, why gray? Seems like such a boring color to like."

"That's two questions." Carth points out.

She wrinkles her nose. "Don't whine. Are you going to nitpick through the entire thing?"

The pilot rolls his eyes. "My wife. She had gray eyes."

"A wife, eh?" Revan murmurs with interest. The use of past tense doesn't escape her notice. "What happened to her?"

"That's definitely more than one question." Carth's mouth sets in a stubborn line. She's not going to get any more out of him, so she concedes.

"Fine. It's your turn."

Unlike Revan, the pilot doesn't beat around the bush. "What were you talking about with Bastila?"

"I think you heard most of it." She tells him wryly. "But to clarify, Bastila says I'm Force sensitive. I had a dream about her right afterwards and I wondered if she may have cast some sort of mind altering Force power on me for revenge."

"Revenge for what?" Carth raises a brow.

"Who knows what goes on in that haughty head of hers." Revan shrugs. "She told me we should visit the Jedi Council though."

"And you don't think that's odd?"

Oh, Revan certainly thinks so. But she waves dismissively. No need to fan the fire of Carth's suspicions. The point of the game is to satisfy Revan's curiosity, not the other way around. "The Jedi as a whole are odd. I try not to worry about it. What happened to your wife?"

The abrupt query distracts Carth. He stops his investigation, shoulders slumping. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope." Revan smiles broadly. "If you want any more information on me, you're going to make a fair trade."

He sighs wearily. "She died. On Telos. During the Sith attack." The words are strained, as if it takes effort to think about.

Telos. Revan is mildly relieved to discover the planet is one Malak had decided to bomb on his own; a test of loyalty that she considers entirely pointless and terribly stupid. It doesn't negate the fact that she's partly responsible for ruining the man's life, and that makes the conversation slightly awkward.

All the same, she can't help but want to sate her curiosity. "What was she like?" She doesn't expect the pilot to answer – she's sure he's going to throw up another guarded response. But it seems he's not entirely predictable.

"Courageous. Stubborn to a fault. Couldn't talk her out of anything, once she set her mind to it." He says distantly with a mixture of wistful fondness and bottomless regret.

What do people usually say during these situations? "I bet she was a great woman." Revan provides after a moment of contemplation.

"She was." The pilot agrees. They walk the rest of the way in silence.

* * *

A Twi'lek sends them a message the next day. Though the Sith are attempting to cover the whole thing up, Canderous has heard rumors of a recent break-in at the Sith base that led to the murder of the governor.

The messenger directs them to Javyar's Cantina, where Canderous is expecting them. Not one to keep an armed Mandalorian waiting, Revan heads to meet him straightaway (she denies the accusation that she got excited at the mention of a cantina). This time round she brings a party. The only one left in the apartment is T3, as Revan doesn't want to risk having to give the droid back.

"I'm not introducing them all to Davik." Canderous says flatly when she arrives.

"Didn't want to bother explaining the plan to them all." Revan explains. "They'll wait nearby for a quick getaway, but you're only bringing me inside."

"No way." Carth automatically interrupts.

"I'll have Ordo backing me up. I'll be fine." She reassures, to little effect.

"You trust him?" The pilot asks incredulously. "Mercs like this haven't a lick of conscience... they'll betray you in a heartbeat." Revan silently wonders what happened to Carth's tact.

"I'm not talking to you, am I?" Canderous sneers.

"I don't sense any deception from him, which is surprising." For once, Revan is grateful for Bastila's input.

"Why would I betray her when I want to get off this backwater planet as much as she does?" The Mandalorian asks, narrowing his eyes.

"We're taking him with us?" Carth scowls. Good grief, the situation is getting out of hand.

"If that's what it takes." Revan says loudly, cutting off any disagreements. She amends her first statement to placate the man. "Ordo, would Kang mind if I brought a 'bodyguard'?"

"No, I suppose he wouldn't." The Mandalorian admits.

And that's how she finds herself saddled with Carth as they enter Davik's estate.

"Sometimes I feel like you're more of a babysitter than a soldier." She mutters to the pilot as they wait for Davik's arrival.

"Like I'm letting you go alone to pull some dangerous stunt." He retorts.

Revan places a dramatic hand on her chest and smirks. "Why Onasi, I'm touched. I didn't know you cared."

"You two idiots, break it up." Canderous rolls his eyes. "Davik's here."

Revan suppresses an urge to comment on the newly arrived crime lord's ensemble. Perhaps the man attempted to pull off an air of royalty, but purple armor crosses a line.

"So, Canderous - I see you have brought someone with you. Most intriguing, if I do say so myself. You usually travel alone." Davik approaches them regally. There's another man accompanying him – Revan recognizes him as the ill-tempered killer with a liberal use of flash grenades. This man is the one she needs to be watchful of.

"It's not like you take on partners, Canderous," the flash grenade man mocks, "You're getting soft."

Canderous' hand goes to his rifle. He stands upright, a threat buried in his rough voice. "Watch yourself, Calo! You may be the newest kath hound to the pack, but you aren't top dog yet."

Sensing danger, Davik intervenes. "Enough! I won't have my top two men killing each other; that's not good business. I'm sure Canderous has a reason as to why he's not working solo anymore."

Canderous nods. "This is a special case, Davik. I ran into someone who the Exchange might want to recruit. You may have heard of some of her exploits already."

"Mysterious Stranger and Taris Swoop Champion at your service, sir." Revan mock salutes and tries to keep a straight face. It wouldn't do to anger a powerful crime lord, but honestly, that armor is ridiculous.

"Ah, yes," Davik murmurs, staring at her intently, "Now I recognize you. You have quite the resume, miss…?"

"Aria Blackmoor."

"And your friend?" Carth stiffens at his attention.

"My bodyguard." Revan says quickly. "Don't really need one, but considering who I'm dealing with, you can never be too careful. No offense."

Davik accepts her explanation and smirks. "No, it sounds sensible enough to me. Well Aria, Canderous was right. The Exchange is always looking for new talent. You could have a bright future with our organization. With a recommendation from Canderous – and a thorough background check – you could become part of the Exchange. Many would kill to prove themselves worthy of this honor."

"Brejik would say I already have." Revan muses.

Davik finds this rather funny and laughs. "You'll fit in well. Now come with me – I will give you a tour of my operations. I'm certain you'll be most impressed."

"Of course." She accepts politely. A tour will let her map out the place and allow for quick access to the hanger. Davik doesn't know he has just about handed her his ship.

Davik may be a showoff, but his ship is undeniably impressive. Carth certainly thinks so. She smirks at the transparent longing on his face – he's itching to have at the _Ebon Hawk_. She's sure he's actually listening to Davik's grand explanation, too.

"Your true love?" Revan teases.

The pilot smiles sheepishly. "She's a beauty." Shame she's in the hands of a dirty old criminal like Davik Kang. Revan will rectify that soon enough.

Though helpful, the tour isn't particularly exciting and is filled with Davik's boasting. Revan is relieved when they're finally placed in a room and told not to wander on the threat of bodily harm. "Let's get out of here before Kang can finish that background check." She announces eagerly.

"We'll have to find a way to get past the _Ebon Hawk_'s security systems before we can take her." Canderous bursts her bubble. Revan sighs resignedly.

"Right. Of course grand theft can't be that simple."

In the end she coaxes the information out of a slave (along with a massage, to Carth's annoyance). She's told that Davik's pilot should have the security codes, and is being punished in Davik's personal torture chamber.

They know they've arrived at the correct room when they hear screams. Carth moves in immediately and the torture droids are swiftly dispatched. All that's left is a trembling man, terror on his face. "T-thank you." He rasps, falling when he struggles upright.

"Torturing his own men until they can barely move." Carth scowls. "Davik's despicable."

"Torture. Despicable. Right." Revan agrees uneasily. Luckily Carth is too busy making sure the other pilot will survive to notice, though Canderous stares at her oddly. A few liberal applications of kolto later, the rescued man is healthy enough to stand and grateful enough to pass on the _Ebon Hawk'_s security codes without fuss.

That's when Revan gets a _very bad feeling_. Foreboding sends a shiver down her spine. Her very bad feelings are frequently correct. "We have to hurry." She informs the others anxiously.

"Are you all right?" Carth asks, concerned. His gaze fixes on her restless form.

"No, not really." Revan admits. "Let's hurry." There is an unusual urgency in her tone. The pilot and the Mandalorian must sense it, because they hasten their steps.

They're cutting their way to the hangar when the first quakes begin. The rest of Davik's guards decide to flee, leaving the rest of the path unhampered. Revan is not cheered by the silver lining as she senses Taris crumbling around them. Lives are being snuffed out like candles – the planet is under full out assault. One name comes to mind as the sound of death surrounds her.

_Malak! _The idiot must've gotten impatient in his search for Bastila.

"Guess you were right." Canderous grunts, breaking into a run.

"It's unfortunate I can't enjoy the fact." She breathes out sharply, trying to keep up with his long strides.

They burst into the hangar to see two figures entering opposite of them. "Damn those Sith!" Davik Kang curses, stumbling to the _Ebon Hawk_, Calo Nord at his side. "They're bombing the whole planet! I knew they'd turn on us sooner or…" He breaks off as he becomes aware of the unwelcomed party in his hangar. His lip curls into a sneer. "Thieves in the hangar. So, you figured you'd just steal my ship and leave me high and dry while the Sith turn the planet into dust?"

"That's the plan." Revan confesses.

Calo Nord steps forward, a grenade in his hand. "I'll take care of them Davik." He sounds much too eager for a man in the middle of a Sith bombardment. "I've been looking forward to this for a long time–"

Canderous finds it the opportune moment to fire his rifle. Calo hisses as the bolt pierces his shoulder and drops his grenade.

Revan takes a moment to appreciate the Mandalorian's initiative. "Nice shooting."

"I've waited to do that for too long." Canderous grins fiercely.

"We need to finish this quickly. The building's coming down around us." Carth reminds them as he adds his own blaster fire to the fray. While the other two provide cover fire, Revan charges Davik who's fleeing towards the _Ebon Hawk_.

"Never turn your back on an enemy." Revan snarls as she overtakes the man, intent on running him through. But Davik has faster reflexes than she assumes. He spins around in an instant and slashes at her wildly with an unexpected vibroblade. The blade catches her leg and she falls forward with a pained hiss – though she uses the momentum to impale a vibroblade through the man's skull.

Revan collapses beside the newly deceased crime lord. She places her hands on her leg and roughly bites her lip. Damn, she's getting rusty if a man such as Davik Kang could catch her off guard. _Can't underestimate a man in purple armor_, she thinks ruefully. There's no time to heal the wound – Davik may be dead but there's still a threat she can't ignore.

Her attention turns to Calo Nord. He's taken cover behind a couple of supply crates, awkwardly returning fire with his good arm. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it, because the next moment he abandons his gun and holds up a grenade. "You may have me outnumbered and outgunned, but if I'm going down, I'm taking all of you with me. This thermal detonator will blow us all to bits!"

There's no time for a reaction as part of the ceiling falls and crushes Calo Nord beneath it.

"Anticlimactic," Revan contemplates, "but who's complaining?"

"I am." Canderous growls. "I'd expected to kill him myself."

"Not our problem." Carth mutters as he kneels beside her to examine the wound. "How's your leg?"

"Injured." She replies curtly before lifting a bloody hand. "And bleeding out. Some kolto would be nice."

The pilot digs through a medpac for her request and frowns. "We don't have much more on us."

"Brilliant." The sarcasm is spat out. Revan does not enjoy being in pain. It makes it hard to focus. And focus is needed – badly – as the echoes of death surround her. She's going cross-eyed from the strain of blocking it out.

She doesn't notice Carth tend to her wound, nor does she hear him speak, so caught up in her attempts to dull the pain. The next thing she _does_ notice is being scooped up by a strong pair of arms and carried to the _Ebon Hawk_. "What the – I'll walk!" She exclaims indignantly. Ex-Sith Lords definitely do not get carried bridal style like helpless damsels.

"It'll take too long with that leg, and we're in a hurry." Carth tells her. "Unless you'd like Canderous' help instead?" His lips curl slightly upwards. Is that a _smirk_?

"Ain't gonna to happen." Canderous sneers. Revan isn't complaining.

"Onasi, I hope I bleed all over your jacket." She grumbles but doesn't argue further. She feels the rumble of his chest as he chuckles.

Carth deposits her in the med bay before rushing to the cockpit. With nothing else to do, she shuts her eyes and prays that the pilot's fancy flying will once again save them from being blasted into space dust.

* * *

Revan meditates. She hasn't done so in years, but now seems a good a time as any to start again. Taris is gone. All those lives, snuffed out in an instance, and the imprint of death is still fresh on her mind.

It isn't like she hasn't given out the same order. Just never as casually as her former apprentice… But could she still do so, as she is now? Revan promptly squashes the question, instead focusing on her anger towards Malak.

_The biggest idiot in the galaxy_.

She's so deep within her musings that Mission's voice catches her by surprise. Revan almost falls backwards when her eyes snap open to find the Twi'lek standing right in front of her.

"What's losing your home supposed to feel like?" She looks much like she sounds – small and lost. Revan doesn't know why Mission has come to her for insight – she is hardly a sympathetic figure – but she can't seem to turn the girl away.

"I don't know." She admits instead. Dantooine had never felt like home, even though she'd been brought up in their Enclave as a child. She'd hardly mourned leaving for good. Revan wonders if she'd ever had a home.

Mission takes a seat beside the uncomfortable ex-Sith Lord. "Me neither." She agrees softly. "There's this… _emptiness_. Like I can't even believe it happened. But Taris is gone, isn't it?"

"Malak was quite thorough." Revan says frankly.

"Griff – he'd brought me to Taris. Took care of me till he… left. And then I met so many people. Gadon, Zaedra, they all looked out for me – gave me a place… I mean, I grew up there and now it's… it's… it's just _gone._" Mission's eyes widen, as if she finally grasps the concept.

Oh Force, she isn't going to cry, is she?

"They are. But there's nothing to do about the dead." Revan replies quickly and places a tentative arm around the girl's shoulder, careful not to touch her lekkus. Hugs. Hugs are comforting. She can do hugs. "You can grieve their passing, honor their memory, and move on."

"Can I just do the first, for now?" Mission mumbles. She hasn't started crying, at least.

Revan thinks it's ridiculous that the Twi'lek finds solace in her awkward attempts at comfort, but she sighs and lets Mission lean against her. "If you were a bit older, I'd say the best solution is a bottle of Tarisan ale." Revan adds quietly, aching for some herself.

"I ain't a kid." Mission finds the energy to mutter.

Revan rolls her eyes. "Mission, I think you're going to be just fine."

* * *

Revan spends the night in the med bay for privacy more than recuperation. It isn't really necessary – apart from Mission's surprise visit, everyone has kept to themselves. During this time she considers healing her leg completely, but decides against it lest she raise suspicions. Instead the kolto patch is replaced and she resigns herself to letting the wound heal naturally.

They land on Dantooine early the next morning. No one should be up this early, with the exception of the pilot, and Revan sees it as her cue to leave the med bay. She limps to the cockpit and finds it unexpectedly occupied by an argument.

"Safe?" Carth is saying dubiously. "You saw what his fleet did to Taris: there wasn't a building over two stories high left standing! They… they turned the planet into one big pile of rubble."

Bastila lifts her head imperiously. "Even the Sith would think twice before attacking Dantooine. There are many Jedi here, including several of the most powerful Masters of the Order. There is great strength within this place."

_Great strength that sits on its rear all day. _Revan resists the urge to point out that a few old, possibly senile Jedi Masters wouldn't be able to stand up to a Sith warships' laser cannons. They'd probably be safe on Dantooine for the moment unless Malak gets a sudden psychotic urge to bomb his old Academy. There'd be no tactical advantage – the place was out in the middle of nowhere, and aside from the Jedi there was nothing else of value. Plus, their plan hadn't been to wipe out the Jedi – it had been to draw them to the Sith.

Revan interjects, and the two finally notice her presence. "We need a place to rest, anyway."

"We can get supplies here and recuperate. The Academy is a place of mental and spiritual healing; something we could all use after what we've been through." Bastila agrees. "Now I must go speak with the Council. I need their advice on... recent developments. After I have met with them I will meet you outside the ship."

They watch the Jedi take her leave before Revan speaks. "I notice a distinct absence of a jacket."

"Bloodstains." The pilot states dryly. He watches as she limps to the co-pilots seat. "You okay?"

"Leg should be healed soon enough." She shrugs, then adds softly, "Besides, that's a question better left for Mission."

Carth's expression darkens. "Yeah… yeah I guess you're right."

"Will you talk with her?"

The pilot meets her eyes and looks away. His voice is rough. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Revan fixes her curious gaze on the back of the pilot's head. He doesn't want to have a conversation with Mission because he can't chase away her grief. He can't help the girl deal with her demons, because Carth Onasi has not dealt with his own.

"My favorite color is purple." Revan states offhandedly. The pilot stares at her. "You never continued our game, so I've taken it upon myself to get the ball rolling." She defends.

"…Why purple?" Carth finally asks, playing along. She's relieved he doesn't comment on her poor attempt to cheer him up.

"It's a lovely color." Just not on certain deceased crime lords.

That elicits a low chuckle from the pilot. "That's it?"

"Why not?" Revan sniffs. But she's smiling, satisfied with a job well done. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm long past due for a shower."


	7. Destined Disaster

**A/N: I struggle with Star Wars expletives. I have no idea if they use some of our swearwords, but many of the SW universe's curses are so silly I'd never take them seriously (choobies, farkled…). So you guys better be prepared to see some Earthly ones (just pretend they were translated from Basic to English)!**

**And as usual I thank all you reviewers/lurkers/generally amazing people for sticking with this story! And special thanks to ZeroRequiem for giving tons of awesome concrit for the last chapter!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Destined Disaster**

Dantooine: world of endless plains and grassy fields, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. A world with no distractions, no temptations, and certainly no cantina. The _perfect_ world to raise a Jedi... It hasn't changed in the years she's been away. Revan never expected to return to the planet, but here she is, sitting cross-legged on a rock, admiring the dim orange glow the sun casts over the enclave at sunrise.

…Waiting to meet the Jedi Council.

Emotions stir in the pit of her stomach: anger, impatience, _apprehension_. The answers she's sought are within her grasp. But… does she only want answers? Is it about revenge? Sure, she's angry at the Council – furious, even, but there's no suppressed, murdering rage waiting to burst out the moment she sees one of those old coots.

Revan doesn't know her own plan. She doesn't know how the Jedi will act when they see her. She's gone over this in her mind a dozen times at the very least, but Revan simply doesn't what she'll do when she sets foot in the same room with the people who'd put her in this… predicament.

No murder involved, she hopes.

It isn't long before Bastila appears, beckoning her to follow.

The Jedi Masters are gathered in the Council chamber.

"Ah, so you are the one who rescued Bastila. It is appropriate you are here. We have been discussing your rather special case. I am Zhar, a member of the Jedi Council. With me are Master Vrook, Master Vandar and, of course, the Chronicler of our Academy, Master Dorak. Padawan Bastila I am sure you are already familiar with." Revan's old teacher introduces. She discreetly glances over to Dorak, then back to Zhar. _Two_ of her old teachers in one place. It's a kriffing reunion.

"I came on the assumption that you'd explain to me why I'm having visions, but apparently there's more to this. What do you want from me?" She asks carefully. She's good enough to prevent normal people from reading her (she has a killer pazaak face), but it's a daunting task to fool wizened old Jedi with a knack for discerning truth from lie.

"Bastila tells us you are strong in the Force. We are considering you for Jedi training."

They'd risk reestablishing her connection to the Force? Whatever happened learning from past mistakes?

Vrook has the same thought. He makes his disapproval apparent. "Master Zhar speaks out of turn, perhaps. We need indisputable proof of your strong affinity to the Force before we would even consider accepting you for training." Revan stifles the childish urge to stick out her tongue. The cantankerous man hasn't changed a bit.

"Proof?" Bastila frowns, "Surely the entire Council can feel the strength of the Force within this woman... and I have already related to you the events that took place on Taris…"

"Perhaps it was simple luck." Vrook responds readily. He eyes Revan like she's a wild Kath Hound.

There's warning in Zhar's tone as the Twi'lek meets Vrook's gaze. "We both know there is no luck. There is only the Force. We all feel the power in Bastila's companion. Now that this power has begun to manifest itself, can we safely ignore it?"

And suddenly Revan understands the purpose of this meeting. It isn't to reintroduce her to the Force – it's because the Jedi notice her capacity for it, even 'without' her memories. It's a meeting between the Council to discuss the fate of a criminal.

They aren't being foolish. They want to keep her under control. Now that the connection is apparent, they won't risk her running amuck.

Vrook isn't the only one who considers her a wild animal. To them she's dangerous, unpredictable. They want to put a leash on her.

_No murders_. Revan reminds herself forcefully. _You need to get the whole story_.

Why hadn't they simply cut her off from the Force? It's the harshest punishment the Jedi have against their own, but surely her offenses called for such an act. What do they need from her? She loathes the thought of being used.

"...training is long and difficult, even when working with a young and open mind. Teaching a child is hard. How much harder will it be for an adult to learn the ways of the Jedi?" The end of Vrook's question reaches her ears and her eyes narrow. They're discussing her future as if she isn't even here, making the assumption that _they _know best. But then again, that's the way it's always been.0

Well Revan has the perfect answer for them. "No thank you." The words elicit the _perfect_ stunned silence.

Zhar recovers first. "…Excuse me?"

"Vrook there tells me I'm not cut from the right cloth, so I'd rather not waste all our time with this whole Jedi business. Thanks for giving us a place to rest our weary heads, but I think I'll be going now." She tells them bluntly. She's definitely thrown a wrench in their plans, because they don't say a damn thing as she marches out the doors.

Bastila catches up to her near the _Ebon Hawk_. "I don't _believe _you!" She's breathless. Revan can't decide if it's from sprinting or shock.

"That's okay. I do believe me." She smiles widely. Messing with the Jedi Council always brightens her day.

"You were foolish, disrespectful – your behavior was utterly appalling!" The Jedi is scandalized. Revan is worried she'll throw a fit.

"Shan. Take a _deep breath_. Grab a bite to eat. And the synthesized gunk on the _Ebon Hawk_ doesn't count."

"I don't require _food_. I require an explanation." Bastila huffs, though the heat in her words is decreasing.

"Explanations don't fill an empty stomach." Revan maintains. "Show me the kitchen and I'll enlighten you over breakfast."

* * *

Living on Dantooine has its perks, surprisingly. Thanks to the farmers, the enclave is stocked with fresh produce. Revan takes it upon herself to cook up a nice breakfast. Due to the perils of accepting food from others, she's quickly learned to make her own meals (she hadn't even trusted the droids, and after building HK, _especially _not the droids).

Bastila is staring at her.

_She's probably never seen an ex-Sith Lord flipping omelets_.

Revan drops a plate in front of the Jedi and takes a seat opposite her, smiling at the funny notion. "It may not be gourmet, but it's not poisoned." She reassures when Bastila wordlessly pokes at the food. Poison is what Revan tries her best to avoid. She's rewarded with a tentative nibble. "Verdict?"

The Jedi meets her expectant gaze and her lips twitch. Revan counts that as a smile and therefore a victory, even before Bastila says, "Acceptable."

They're halfway through the meal when the Jedi announces, predictably, "It's a great honor to be accepted by the Order."

And here comes the difference of opinion. "Not everyone feels that way Shan." Revan sighs. She refuses to become the Council's trained mutt. Though rejecting them outright may not have been the smartest move. They won't let her go that easily.

Would they decide it best to sever her from the Force? Ice runs down her spine. The Force is as natural as air in her lungs – she imagines life without it would be like being unable to breath.

Perhaps she'd been remiss. Coming to Dantooine was about finding answers, but that insight was far from found, thanks to a short temper and her angry impulse. Patience had never been her strong point.

"It will be dangerous to continue on as you are." Bastila stubbornly argues. "There is great power within you, and it is your _duty _to control it."

"What? You're afraid I'll fall to the dark side?" Revan challenges, annoyed by the Jedi's sermon of things she doesn't fully understand.

"That is a possibility."

"There's also a possibility that I'll be hit by a stray speeder, or crushed by a falling asteroid. Hell, I might drown in the shower. But you don't see me walking around in a full set of durasteel armor."

Bastila does not appreciate her sarcasm. "This is no laughing matter. I suggested we see the Council on the assumption you'd take it seriously. But I see now that was too much to ask."

"I'm serious as a heart attack." Revan insists. "Would I really want to undergo intense training that will strip me of everything I have? I know how the Jedi work. You dedicate your _life_ to the Order."

"That… is correct." Bastila admits softly, eyes dimming in a memory. Her damnable curiosity surfaces.

"How'd you join the Order, Shan?"

The Jedi glances at her contemplatively. "…I was found to be strong with the Force at a young age, as most Padawans are. As a girl I was given to the Order to be trained. When I joined the Order I left my family on Talravin, as all Padawans do. My family is still there, the last that I heard. I have had little contact with them, as is discouraged."

"And you simply listen." That's what Jedi do. They listen to their teachings and sit on their pedestal.

"Relationships with family members are fraught with powerful emotions. Such extremes are to be avoided. Anger and hate are the worst, but even love can lead to folly. The gift of the Force comes with a high cost. Sacrifice of one's emotional attachments is one of the prices a Jedi must be willing to pay. The alternative is to fall prey to the dark side."

"See, that's what I find unappealing." The Jedi should find a better slogan for their recruitment campaign. They wouldn't reel many new apprentices in with: 'Join the Jedi! You'll never see your family again! Celibacy is required!'

"…Do you have family?" Bastila asks abruptly, in an uncharacteristic bout of interest.

_A loving family on Deralia. A child holding the warm hands of her mother and father._

_An enclave. A child surrounded by Jedi, kind but distant._

She forces the memories down into a dark corner of her mind. "…No. Not anymore." It's the truth, for both the reality and the make-believe. It's difficult to think of only one.

Revan bites back a groan. Why is she sober?

* * *

Mission and Zaalbar leave the _Ebon Hawk _to explore the enclave, taking T3 with them with questionable motives (she hopes the Jedi don't have any valuables they'll miss). Only Canderous and Carth remain on the ship. The Mandalorian is cleaning his weapons when she passes by, including a pair of vibroswords Revan hadn't noticed before. She makes a mental note to find out about those – perhaps she and Canderous could even discuss different styles of dual-wielding.

But right now she wants access to her alcohol reserve; a single bottle of Tarisan ale – not enough to get drunk, but she'll make do.

The pilot finds her in the cockpit a short while later with said bottle and shakes his head. "You're incorrigible."

"Grab a seat. Let's be drinking buddies." Revan smiles. There must be something wrong in her expression, because Carth accepts a cup and sits.

"Is this Tarisian ale?" The pilot furrows his brows.

"Not your first choice, I take it." It's strong stuff, to be sure, and he's careful enough to never even _think_ about getting drunk around her. "All the same you may as well enjoy it. With Taris gone this'll be worth a small fortune soon enough. In hindsight, I probably should have saved it to make a quick credit."

"That's a tad inappropriate given the circumstances, don't you think?"

"Me, inappropriate? Never."

He sighs and sets the drink aside. He obviously hasn't come for the free booze. "What happened with the Jedi Council?"

Revan looks sour as she takes a swig right out of the bottle. "Wanted me to become a Jedi. I said no thanks."

His brows shoot up in surprise. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." She repeats.

"Can't say it's what I expected."

"Neither can I." She confesses. She absently draws circles on the bottle with her thumb. Her nails really need to be trimmed, and the utterly _normal_ thought brings her back to reality. "…What are you going to do now?" The pilot can't be expected to hang around the Academy forever.

He stares out the windows as he answers. "I contacted my commanding officer. They're still making a decision. I'll probably be reassigned, since what happened after the Endar Spire wasn't an… official mission."

"Official or not, it's been one hell of a ride." She nods and grows thoughtful. "I'm glad to have had you along."

"That's surprising." Carth responds with a lopsided smile. What's more surprising is the honesty behind her words. She's always known they'd part ways, but there's a pang of disappointment realizing she'll never see the man again.

Revan is unnerved by the thought of missing someone. She hides it behind a smirk. "Onasi, shut up and drink."

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Her heavy footsteps are the only sound in the room as she paces back and forth. A stony heartbeat to accompany the darkness dwelling within the ruins.

Malak stands stiffly. Revan turns to him.

"What's wrong, old friend? Don't tell me you're scared." Her words are cold and distorted by the mask.

"The dark side is strong in this place – I can feel its power!" He breathes, nervous, restless – _eager_.

Behind her mask Revan rolls her eyes. "I can't believe _you_ are our voice of reason." She resumes her pacing. Another minute is spent in silence, until she approaches the entrance. She runs one gloved hand over the ancient door.

"Is this wise? The ancient Jedi sealed this archway. If we pass beyond this door, we can never go back. The Order will surely banish us."

"Are you sure you're talking about the Order?" Her question rings hollowly. They'd left the Order long ago. Malak speaks of something of greater importance. Revan clenches her hand. They've come so far (fallen so far). _She's_ come so far (done what _has to be_ done). Oh what the hell – what's one more step?

The door slides open.

"Are the secrets of the Star Forge so valuable? Can its power truly be worth the risk?" Malak whispers with that same mixture of apprehension and awe. The Star Map blooms like a stone flower before them. Revan says nothing as she approaches the ancient relic, stopping an arm's length before it. She gazes into the lights of the galaxy, contemplative. Abruptly, she spins on her heels to face her companion, extending her hand dramatically.

"Why don't we find out, old friend? Will you follow me?" There's challenge in her voice, as if they're children again and she's giving out a dare.

Malak allows a faint smile. "Why ask a question to which you know the answer?"

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Revan wakes to knocking. She pushes herself upright, rubs the sleep from her eyes, and searches for the source of the noise.

Carth is leaning against the doorframe to the women's quarters. "Bastila left in a hurry. She mentioned that you should go to the Council chambers. Sounds urgent." He pauses to take in her appearance and then politely averts his gaze. Disorderly hair, bags under her eyes, and wrinkled, barely decent sleepwear. Any other woman would have been mortified. Revan just wants him to leave so she can go back to sleep (not like he hasn't seen her in her underwear already). "…You look like you saw a ghost. Are you all right?" He asks the wall.

"Rough night." She grumbles and kicks off the covers tiredly (to the pilot's embarrassment). She doesn't feel like she slept at all. "I'll meet them as soon as I get dressed."

She arrives in front of the Jedi Council thirty minutes later and finds Bastila looking as bad as Revan feels. Her hair is mussed, as if haphazardly thrown into their customary pig-tails, and there are circles beneath her eyes. Any other day Revan would have taken great pleasure in teasing the Jedi, but right now she wants nothing more than a big steaming mug of caffa and a pillow.

"Bastila told us the most unusual development. She claims you and she have shared a dream; a vision of Malak and Revan in the ancient ruins here on Dantooine." As Master Vandar continues his explanation, the tiredness in Revan is replaced by alarm.

_No_. _No it isn't – it can't be true. Please tell me my luck isn't _that _bad_.

She's spent a good chunk of her life in the pursuit of knowledge. There'd been many a late night spent in the Archive, curled up with nothing more than a datapad and a dim source of light. And of the information stored in Revan's mind are the facts of Force Bonding.

Which is why Revan is _ninety-five percent sure_ she has developed a Force Bond with Bastila Shan (the other five percent insists the entire thing is a cruel joke).

Most of what the Masters say is lost to her. She only catches the end of their speech. "…Perhaps there you will find some clue, some explanation, of how Revan and Malak were corrupted. And perhaps there you shall find a way to stop them."

"Excuse me?" Revan says weakly. It's almost comical how suddenly their positions have shifted. "I must be hearing you incorrectly. I'm – _we're_ _going to save the galaxy_?"

"It is an enormous undertaking to be sure, but that is the gist of it." Zhar confirms.

Vrook, with his usual contempt, adds severely, "The Force flows through you like no student we have ever seen. But you are willful and headstrong... a dangerous combination."

"Before we send you to investigate the ruins, you must be trained in the ways of the Jedi so that you can resist the darkness within yourself... within all of us. Otherwise you are doomed to fail." Vandar looks at her directly as he says this. She wonders if that's disappointment in his gaze.

At least the Council's plan is clear now. They want to turn the former Sith Lord into a weapon against the Sith. Though the understanding does not lessen the offense, both Revan's and the Jedi's objectives coincide. She isn't sure if the Council is being remarkably brilliant, or exceedingly stupid, to use _her_ of all people, but she can't refuse their offer out of commonsense.

So Revan agrees, albeit warily. "You're not giving me much of a choice here… okay, I'll do it."

Zhar's lekkus twitch in anticipation. There's light in his eyes. "We must begin your training at once. You have a destiny upon you that you must be prepared to face. The entire fate of the galaxy is upon you."

"I can only hope you prove up to the task." Vrook mutters acerbically.

* * *

_Force Bond._ That's why Revan is dreaming.

Shock makes way to fury. How _dare_ _they_ rummage through her memories. It's fortunate her mental barriers are still in place; Bastila can't breech her innermost thoughts, though the Bond will make it impossible to close her mind completely.

Bastila's been poking through her head, invading her privacy, interrupting her rest.

Revan made _omelets _for her.

"Kriff. Shit. Sithspit. _Shit_." Her training saber hits the training dummy with every muttered curse. "Stupid. _Arrogant_. Padawans."

"Woah. Someone's got some unresolved issues."

She whirls around. She really can't make a habit out of being taken by surprise. "Mission!" The Twi'lek waves from her spot against the wall. Zaalbar growls quietly and T3 chirps a greeting.

"Oh wow! Is that a lightsaber?" She hops over to examine the weapon in excitement.

"Training saber. The worst it can do is burn you." She juggles the device from hand to hand absentmindedly.

Mission tilts her head, puzzled. "Huh. Guess you could bludgeon someone to death if you tried hard enough."

"I have to practice a few Jedi forms." Revan explains, throwing down the tool in irritation. The training itself is unnecessary, though she'll have to go through with it if she wants to keep the wool over the Council's eyes.

"So what was that about 'stupid, arrogant Padawans'?" Mission continues prodding. Damned observant street kids.

Revan decides it best to come clean. "Shan and I have a… _Force Bond_." She spits out the words as if they're poison. They may as well be, as the very idea eats away at her.

"Huh." The Twi'lek takes a seat on the ground. Revan joins her. "That some kind of magic glue?"

"Kind of." She snorts. It would be just as hard to sever. "Our minds are linked through the Force." Mission winces at the declaration. She pats the agitated woman sympathetically. Not wanting to think on the matter more than necessary, Revan gestures to T3. "What are you doing with him?"

"T3 here is backup. In case I can't crack a code or two." Mission smiles gleefully. "Did you know there's a whole lower level to this place?"

"Good to know T3's being utilized effectively. I applaud whoever in the world taught you such valuable life lessons." She rolls her eyes.

"Griff did right by me." The Twi'lek defends.

"And I'd still like those slicing lessons." Revan agrees.

Mission glances down at the abandoned training saber and smiles mischievously. "Doesn't look like you're having much fun beating up that dummy. We could start now if you want. There's a whole Academy to practice on."

"I have never had such a wonderful offer in my life." She smiles right back.

The rest of the day is whittled away under Mission's instructions until Bastila finally finds them to scold for mucking about. But it's too late to continue with training, so the Jedi's lecture falls on deaf ears.

"So why'd you decide to become a Jedi?" Mission inquires as their small party heads back to the _Ebon Hawk_. Bastila departs to her own room, so the women's quarters of the ship will be quite spacious for the time spent on Dantooine.

"Saving-the-galaxy business." Is the short response.

"Wow. There's never a dull moment with you."

"Try saying that after waiting weeks for my Jedi training to finish." Revan tells her flatly. 'Training' should go on much longer than a few weeks, but she doesn't have the patience or the willpower to continue for such an extended period of time. "I won't keep you guys if you want to go."

"I have sworn a life-debt to you. A few weeks are nothing to a Wookie." Zaalbar rumbles softly.

"And I'm not going anywhere." Mission reassures her with another happy smile. Revan is impressed by how quickly the Twi'lek has bounced back from the destruction of Taris.

So Mission and Zaalbar are staying with her on Dantooine, Bastila is… _bonded _to her, and Carth is leaving. Revan needs only to talk to Canderous to tie up loose ends.

As if picking up a few lessons from the Jedi, the Mandalorian chooses that moment to step off the ship, rifle in hand and a pack slung over his shoulder.

"Are you leaving?" She asks curiously.

"Where could I find a ship out in the plains?" He snorts and pats his rifle. "Visiting the Kath Hounds. I've decided to thin out their numbers."

"Credits are involved, I assume." She finishes slyly.

Canderous smirks. "Why not get paid for some target practice?"

Dummy abuse is not an effective method of releasing pent-up anger. Revan finds the idea of slaying Kath Hounds more appealing by the minute. She and Canderous can even bond over their mutual ability to kill things. "I'll join you."

"Hmph." Canderous grunts noncommittally. Revan assumes that's a 'yes' and hurries up the ramp, hearing the muted sound of Mission ineffectively trying to convince the Mandalorian to bring her as well. She's heading to her quarters to gather necessities when she runs into Carth.

"You've been gone all day." The pilot comments and watches curiously as she rushes off.

"Long story." She calls out dismissively, returning with her vibroblades. Carth raises a brow as he spots the weapons strapped to her hips. "Hunting with Ordo." She answers his silent question.

Obviously that isn't the _correct_ answer, because they head into the plains as a party of three.

"Pleasant night." Revan comments over the silent animosity between the two men. Sheshould _never_ be the affable one. The good idea isn't looking very good anymore. "…You couldn't make out the stars on Taris with all the light pollution. It's nice to look up into the sky and see them again–"

Canderous motions for her to stop talking. "Kath Hounds." There's a pack of the beasts lounging beneath a large tree. Revan proceeds to close the distance and is stopped once again. "What the hell are you doing?"

She throws him a baffled look. "Killing them?"

"Guns, Blackmoor." The Mandalorian says slowly, as if talking to a particularly dull child.

Revan can feel Carth's amusement before she sees his expression. She grits her teeth as she reluctantly grounds out her next words. "I'm not… _practiced_ with blasters."

"…You're kidding me."

"She isn't." Carth confirms.

"I'm damn good with my blades Onasi." Revan warns.

"The Hounds won't catch our scent." Canderous growls. "We're upwind. They'll be dead before they even know what shot at them."

In the end she's forced to sit back and watch as the Mandalorian and the pilot pick off the Kath Hounds from a distance. Bored, Revan begins talking. "Ordo, we're off Taris. What're you going to do now?"

"Depends." He pauses to snipe another hound. "What's your next move?"

"Training." She watches the blaster fire briefly light up the Mandalorian's hardened features. He's taken part in countless battles – a seasoned veteran. He'd be handy to have around, if she's truly heading off to stop Malak. "…But after that, I have a… job."

"I'm listening."

"The Council isn't bringing me into their fold out of the goodness of their hearts. They think it's my… _destiny_ to stop Malak." Revan does not put much faith in destiny. But she _does _believe in action, and as always, _someone_ will have to act.

"Is this part of your 'long story'?" Carth frowns, both skeptical and perturbed. The last of the Kath Hounds are taken care of, so he puts his pistols aside and gives her his full attention. "You'd refused the Council offer, but now I hear you're training to become a Jedi. What changed today?"

So Revan relates the events of the day's meeting with the Jedi Council. She avoids any information that may put her in suspect, such as the specifics of Force Bonds and the apparent impossibility of forming one with Bastila, or details of her 'vision' (no need to tell them she's been dreaming of supposedly dead Sith Lords). But by the end of her explanation Carth's expression has grown serious, lined with that familiar suspicion. Mercifully, Canderous only looks faintly impressed.

"I'll continue under your employ for the time being." The Mandalorian asserts.

"The pay will be meager." She tells him truthfully.

He smirks. "The promise of cracking a few Sith heads will have to satisfy me… for now."

"I'm sure there will be plenty of action in the future, if what the Council said isn't a load of bantha shit." Revan agrees. She sits cross-legged, elbows resting on her knees, and props her head in her hands. She stares at the Mandalorian attentively. He isn't like the regular mercs she meets in Aria Blackmoor's line of work. He reminds her of the Mandalorians she's met as Revan. "Ordo, you must've seen your share of battles. Care to share a story?"

Canderous is amused. He grins, all teeth. "You want to hear tales of my exploits? Of the wars I've seen and fought, the enemies I've seen die by my hands? Heh, sure, I'll humor you.

My name's Canderous of the Mandalorian clan Ordo. I've been fighting across the galaxy for forty of your years. For my people it's the honor and glory of battle that rules us. It's through combat that we prove our worth, gain renown and make our fortunes." His voice rings clearly, rough and forceful. It draw's Revan's attention and holds it. He's a natural born storyteller, Canderous.

"The Mandalorians destroy worlds for honor?" Carth mutters doubtfully. He'd fallen into a pensive silence ever since she'd told them about her conversation with the Jedi, so his voice comes as a surprise.

Canderous sneers as he continues. "Win or lose, as long as the fight is worthy, then honor is gained. The glory at having triumphed over impossible odds is what drives us. If there's nothing at stake – your possessions, your life, your world - then the battle's meaningless. We Mandalore take everything we are and throw it into battle. It's the true test of yourself – the battle against death... against oblivion."

Revan must be chock full of honor if that's the case.

"You seek death." The pilot interjects disbelievingly.

"All life dies eventually." Canderous dismisses. "A true warrior is one who can beat it down whenever it raises its head. But... times have changed now. The Mandalore clans have been scattered across the Outer Rim, the Republic is in decline and the Sith Empire rises to take its place."

Revan elbows Carth before he can protest on behalf of the Republic. Canderous doesn't notice, focused on his tale, eyes burning fiercely.

"The clans as they were aren't a threat, but the galaxy still fears us. Ha! People think we war out of spite, or bloodlust. They don't understand, and fear that. We only wanted the challenge of battle, and glory from it - win or lose. And we lost.

But now I have no real challenges. Crushing Davik's enemies and the pathetic gangs in the Lower City of Taris could not be considered the most glorious of tasks. When I think of the battles I've fought... the thousands I've killed... the worlds I've burned... I weep for my past." He regards Revan with an unknown intensity, and then in the bat of a lash, the look is gone. His gaze lands on Carth.

"Carth, you fought in the Mandalorian Wars, didn't you? We may have faced each other in combat. What battles were you in?" At the pilot's startled expression and Revan's mild surprise, he clarifies, "Did you honestly think you were being subtle? Republic over there holds himself like a soldier, and he obviously has no love for Sith or the Mandalorians."

Carth recovers with a grimace. "I try not to think about my past battles too much. The horrors of war are something I'd rather not relive."

The answer is obviously disappointing. Canderous darkens. "The horrors of war? My people only know the glory of battle. I'm disappointed in you, Carth. I thought a warrior like you would understand."

The pilot mirrors his expression. "I'm not a warrior, I'm a soldier. There's a difference. Warriors attack and conquer, they prey on the weak. Soldiers defend and protect the innocent – mostly from warriors!" They're both reliving the past, though wholly different ones. One remembers his past with fondness, the other with loathing.

Revan knows this conversation is going nowhere pleasant. "I'm heading back. Shan wants me up bright and early tomorrow." She claims abruptly and stands, gesturing toward the dim lights of civilization. Carth wordlessly joins her as the other option is to remain alone with Canderous. Said Mandalorian grunts in response and picks up his rifle, heading further into the plains.

The only sounds between her and the pilot as they return to the _Ebon Hawk _are the crunch of grass beneath their feet and the faint chirruping of nocturnal wildlife. Revan tilts her head upward to enjoy the stars. She hadn't been lying about appreciating the view – Dantooine's night sky is beautiful and one of the only things about the planet she's glad to see again. She shuts her eyes and inhales deeply. The cool air is clean and refreshing. Dantooine is the opposite of Taris, and she welcomes it.

The only person ruining the atmosphere is a certain Republic pilot. He's brooding, and Revan prepares herself to find out why. She begins with a casual reminder. "I recall it's my turn to ask a question."

"…Right now?" The way he says it, she may as well be pulling teeth.

She gives a world-weary sigh. "Is there a better time?"

Carth reflexively runs a hand through his hair, as he does whenever he's uncomfortable. She assumes it's also the reason why his hair, although tidy, always has a few stubborn strands that refuse to fall into place. "All right, let's get the interrogation over with."

"Trust me when I say I _know_ how to pry information out of people." She assures him ominously. He only raises a brow and smiles faintly. She doesn't know whether to be offended that he isn't taking her seriously, or pleased by the noticeable progress in their relationship. Choosing a bit of both worlds, Revan carefully presents her question. "Whenever you talk of your past, there's this deep-seated… _hatred_. It's personal to you; it can only be directed towards someone in particular. Who is that someone?"

His jaw tightens. "I thought you understood that I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"I do, but don't you think you'd feel better if you talked about it?" She reasons.

The pilot makes a noise of frustration. "Listen, sister… just because we worked together doesn't mean you get to badger me with questions."

"I think it does." Revan muses. "And if it's any comfort, in a few days you probably won't have to see me ever again."

"No. It isn't – blast it if you aren't the most frustrating woman to talk to. Isn't there someone else you can harass for a while?" Exasperation is clear in his voice.

"You're my favorite victim." She all too happily admits.

The pilot pauses at that. He runs a hand through his hair once again, and then his shoulders slump. "I should know by now that you don't give up. I give up. You win." Revan is a bit smug at proving her earlier point and waits for him to begin his explanation with a satisfied smirk. It takes a few minutes for Carth gather his thoughts. He stares straight ahead as he begins his account. "When I think of all the men who have betrayed us the one that stands out above them all is the one I respected the most. Saul."

The Sith Admiral. Saul Karath. A great tactician with even greater ambition – the very reason she'd never trusted the man. He was the type that sought recognition and power, the type that wouldn't blink at Malak's betrayal if it would help his personal agenda. And it definitely has – it's _his _advice, _his _strategy that is now winning the war. She had appreciated his intellect, but never the person.

Plus, he'd ruined a perfectly serviceable planet – on _Malak's_ orders no less. She's still peeved about that.

"Saul was my commanding officer back when the Mandalorian Wars first began. He taught me everything about being a soldier… and I looked up to him. He approached me before he left. He talked to me about how the Republic was on the losing side… and about how I should start thinking of my survival. I know now that he was trying to recruit me into the Sith, but I couldn't have conceived of it back then. I argued with him and he got angry and left. I never saw him again."

Revan tries to picture a galaxy in which Carth joined the Sith. Would she have met him? He would probably have risen through the ranks with his aptitude. But she can only imagine the pilot in Sith armor still being a general do-gooder. The idea is so ridiculous she almost bursts out laughing before the gravity of Carth's words reaches her and the amusement subsides to guilt.

Guilt? No – perhaps it's pity. Ex-Sith Lords don't feel guilt. Carth wouldn't appreciate either, anyhow. He wasn't telling her to provoke sympathy, he wasn't Mission – he didn't want comfort or empty words (maybe a hug…? No, that would be incredibly awkward and fairly disrespectful, considering the fact that she's a partial cause for the destruction of his very life). And regret wouldn't bring back his home or his family. But Revan can provide understanding. For everything she has taken, this is all she can give.

"Saul was my mentor… he led us to so many victories against the Mandalorians, even when things looked to be at their worst. I just… I couldn't conceive of it. He… he couldn't be serious. I was wrong, of course… he not only left us for the Sith, he… he _gave_ them the codes to bypass our scanners. I remember waking up as the first of the Sith bombers snuck past our defenses and began destroying half of our docked ships. I knew right away what had happened. I… could have stopped him. I could have stopped it all." His hands curl tightly. Perhaps he imagines the Admiral's neck between them.

"So you blame yourself for trusting your friend?" Revan murmurs, studying the pilot's haunted gaze.

He's quick to respond. "I blame Saul, not myself." But there's uncertainty in his tone. If only he hadn't held such confidence in his mentor, if only he'd had the caution back then, that he does now, if only he hadn't been so easy to trust… The 'if onlys' go on, a vacuum that has swallowed him whole. Carth's voice is softer now. She strains her ears to listen. "I was… I was stupid and I ignored the danger. He nearly destroyed us all. I've fought Saul for years now, and if I ever catch up to him… he will regret what he's done. _He_ _will_ _regret it_."

Revenge is her namesake, but Revan doesn't know if she approves of this self-destructive line of reasoning. She's grown fond of the pilot. Seeing him killed during his quest for vengeance would definitely ruin her day. Maybe even her week.

If Revan runs into Saul Karath during her supposed _destiny,_ she'll take a great deal of pleasure in killing him.


	8. Trial and Error

**Chapter 8: Trial and Error**

It's harder to feign inexperience than Revan presumes. She's so busy trying to fail that she can't find the time to focus on the Jedis' teachings, and in the end _that_ is the reason her deception succeeds.

Zhar oversees her training. He's her Master once again, though he's not as quick to sing praises. Bastila also assists in her lessons, and Revan finds that part – ironically enough – the most enjoyable. She's allowed to swing a weapon at the Jedi, and the smell of singed hair and cloth becomes very gratifying; training sabers can still ruin a perfectly good set of robes.

Daily life transforms into dull repetition. Revan goes from racing swoops and killing Sith governors to levitating datapads.

The arrangement is not as fulfilling as one would expect.

She visits the _Ebon Hawk'_s occupants once every few days to break the tedium. Canderous is gone most days, but Mission and Zaalbar always make time. It's in the middle of the second week that Revan notices a particular Republic pilot still aboard the ship. He's stooped over the workbench in the _Ebon Hawk's_ garage, tinkering with one of his blaster pistols.

So _of course_ Revan takes it upon herself to approach him as stealthily as an accomplished ex-Sith Lord is able to… and taps him lightly on the shoulder.

Carth turns automatically, dropping his tools to grab his working blaster. He stops with his hands atop the gun when he sees Revan standing ther with a wide-eyed smile. "Good to see your paranoia is faring well." She cheerfully observes.

"It's training." The pilot corrects with a troubled twist of his lips. She supposes he doesn't approve of her brilliant idea of sneaking up on a trained soldier. It _was _rather stupid, but Revan can't seem to resist the temptation of teasing him for sport. It's never as fun to annoy Bastila – the Jedi doesn't take her jokes very well.

But pestering the pilot is not why she's here. "Onasi, when exactly _are _you heading back to the fleet?" She inquires. She wonders how she hasn't noticed sooner. Then again, he hadn't been on the _Ebon Hawk_ the last two times she'd dropped by.

"I'm… not." A crease mars his brow as he tells her. "What happened on Taris may not have been planned, but my orders were to act as a liaison between the Republic army and the Jedi contingent, and Admiral Dodonna's seen fit to continue that assignment. So, I guess I'm stuck here for now."

"So, you're the Republic's eyes on this trip." Revan concludes.

"Well, no offense, but the Fleet's no more willing to put blind faith in the Jedi than I am." Carth sighs. He's clearly displeased with the decision, no matter the reasons behind it. Revan supposes he'd rather be sent back to the front lines, instead of being kept on Dantooine indefinitely.

Whatever the brass may be thinking, Revan is pleased by the news. "You're trapped in the middle of nowhere like the rest of us. It's good to hear I won't be the only one suffering."

Carth looks at her wryly. "Thanks."

* * *

"Something on my face?" Revan raises a brow.

"No – it's just… I've seen you angry, but never… unhappy." Carth vaguely provides. He'd been watching her with the most peculiar expression.

She tilts her head to watch him in turn. "Strange man." The two of them sit at the edge of the enclave because Revan _never _spends her free time inside. She's quick to grow restless when the company is all stodgy Jedi and fussy Padawans.

"If I'm strange, then you must be one of a kind." The pilot chuckles.

"I'm flattered." She replies without the usual heart. She kicks her legs absentmindedly, and then looks down to her lap where a child's toy lies dejectedly. The thing had been nestled in a corner of the enclave's lower levels, where she and Mission had found it an hour ago. The species of the toy is a mystery – perhaps it was a child's make-believe animal.

There are far fewer children in the Academy than she remembers. The war has impacted the Jedi more than she's presumed. Where once there were kids are now refugees and emptiness. Revan may not adorekids, but the life they'd brought to the enclave is sorely missed.

Revan isn't quite sure why finding the toy has stirred up such uneasiness. She certainly has no sympathy for the Order. She's converted plenty of Jedi to the Sith and killed the ones who had refused.

But the emptiness… the emptiness is unsettling – sad, almost. She'd be certain this heavy weight in her stomach is… _remorse_, if Revan hadn't long since cast off such unhelpful emotions. Guilt is dangerous when your decisions affect countless lives. She stares intently into black glass eyes, waiting for an answer.

The toy says nothing.

Having had enough, Revan makes a noise of frustration and raises a hand. The cursed object goes flying into the distance, where it will probably become a Kath Hound's new chew toy.

"What did the poor toy do to you?" Carth asks, expression one of mild concern as he follows the object's trajectory into the plains.

"It was uncommunicative." She scowls. "Kriffing thing was just like the Council: closemouthed and unhelpful."

"It's a _toy_." The pilot emphasizes.

"_Was_ a toy." Revan corrects with grim satisfaction.

"Were you this vicious towards inanimate objects as a kid?" He sighs, concern transforming into exasperation.

"As a kid I didn't have much more than the clothes on my back." Her mouth snaps shut as soon as the words leave her lips. The admission is a slip-up.

Carth catches her discomfort and stares at her with a curious intensity. He doesn't intend to let her mistake go so easily. "And _how_ exactly were you raised?"

"My parents provided me what they could, but it wasn't a lot." Revan hesitates as she sorts through Aria Blackmoor's fabricated life. What could she tell him without compromising her identity? She sees strangers' faces, filled with foreign warmth, and decides that's where she'll start. "But they loved me, and cared for me as best they could. They… died when the Mandalorians attacked." She tries to replicate the sorrow of loss, but suspects all she's done is raise the pilot's suspicions. It's hard to feel sad about something you've never had. So she swiftly continues her fictional story with a feeling akin to dread.

"Our home was on one of the rim worlds. My father was lost in a raid – my mother joined him shortly after. I… enlisted with the Republic, for a time. But after my tour ended, I left for the life of a mercenary." The lie is dry on her tongue. The Council had tried to mold her into someone more manageable; a child familiar with love and loss, therefore capable of empathy, a soldier who can take orders. Thankfully, they've failed.

Carth doesn't buy her story. She isn't sure if it's due to his paranoia or her poor presentation, but he watches her with thinly veiled skepticism. "How come you never learned how to use a blaster?"

Revan lounges against the stone wall, trying to appear nonchalant. The pilot is dangerously perceptive, so she'll have to be careful with her answers. "Like I always tell you, I'm more comfortable at close combat." Truth mired in lies.

"You still should have undergone training." Carth objects and Revan wonders how badly things will go if she simply refuses to say anything else.

Thankfully, Mission chooses that moment to drop in. "Guys, me an' Zaalbar found a cave!" She bounds toward them with a pleased smile, Wookie in tow.

Relief floods her senses as much as memories. Images of two overly curious Padawans venturing through dark tunnels and fleeing from angry Kinrath come to the forefront of her mind. There's only one cave Revan is aware of, and there are some crystals she could make use of when the time comes to build her lightsaber. "Well what are we waiting for? Lead the way." She announces and doesn't dare look at Carth.

"I would advise caution when we traverse the plains." Zaalbar adds. "I have noticed the Kath Hounds becoming significantly more aggressive."

"You don't say." She hums. A few short days ago she'd detected a dark presence taking up residence in the wild. It's most likely the cause, though Revan doesn't see it as _her_ problem. She'll leave it to the Jedi. Her objective is the Rakatan ruins – they'll provide a piece of the Star Map, and if the Republic wants any chance of winning this war, they'll need to find and take the Star Forge.

It's unfortunate she doesn't have the coordinates to the Star Forge on her person; the whole ordeal could be avoided if she simply had her personal datapad. The datapad was, of course, destroyed when her flagship exploded, and Revan won't risk inputting coordinates from memory (her memory regrettably unreliable, and bad coordinates could send them through a star).

_Nothing can ever be that simple_, she regretfully reflects.

* * *

It's one week later that the Council announces Revan's apprenticeship is at an end. There are trials, obviously, before she can be officially made a Padawan. Revan isn't sure if she should be happy at the chance to finally doing something productive, or indignant at the status downgrade. From Master to Padawan – she's gone full circle.

She passes the first trial with flying colors. The Jedi Code has had years to ingrain itself in her mind, so it was no trouble at all to spew out the lines for Zhar.

But the second trial is a somewhat longer procedure. Revan won't stand for an imperfect lightsaber and spends the rest of the day tinkering away with the components.

"Are you _still_ making your lightsaber?" Mission asks incredulously when she stumbles across Revan in the garage.

"You can't risk using a defective weapon in the middle of battle." Canderous answers from across the room. He's taken a shine to the swoop bike they'd stolen along with the _Ebon Hawk_, and when he isn't out, he's in the garage, fixing up the swoop. Revan finds the apparent bond men have with their machines to be quite amusing.

"The balance is off." She says when Mission sits down beside her and doesn't appear to be leaving anytime soon.

"I haven't even seen you turn it on."

"And I won't. Not until the crystal is ready." The lightsaber crystal will be the most important part of her weapon, and she'll have to personally imbue it with the Force. She isn't looking forward to the effort required (long hours of meditation is not her ideal way to spend the day), but the lightsaber won't be complete without a crystal.

"Well what color is it going to be?" Mission studies the various crystals littering the workstation. They'd taken quite a few from Dantooine's Crystal Cave.

It's a reasonable question. She'd been presented a crystal by the Council, though she isn't quite certain she wants to use it. She misses her old lightsabers, with their synthetic crystals made wholly to her specifications. Red, with its affiliation to the Sith, is taboo. But… maybe she can get away with dual wielding purple lightsabers without the Council expecting her to turn evil.

_I'm actually worrying over what color my blades will be when I cut someone in half_. She sighs tiredly and gathers her belongings. "I'm going to meditate on this."

"You're beginning to sound like a real Jedi." Mission playfully observes.

"Great." Revan replies with a sarcastic grin. "Next thing you know, I'll be wearing my hair in pigtails and talking with my nose so far up in the air that all I can see is the ceiling."

"Two Bastilas? I think I'll pass."

"The galaxy would surely be doomed." She solemnly agrees and departs to the Twi'lek's snickering.

Revan spends the next two days in deep meditation. The process of imbuing the Force in her crystals is tiring – she may be able to recite the Jedi Code by heart but she's laughably far from peaceful.

It's difficult to clear her mind of distractions when she's left in an empty room with no physical barriers between her mind and said thoughts. Her previous discussion with Carth troubles her – Revan wonders how long she'll have to keep up the ruse. The answer is obvious.

_For as long as necessary_. Duty comes first, and preventing Malak from obliterating the Republic is more important than the discomfort of maintaining a lie. Deceit is not Revan's preferred method (sticking a pointy object into the problem's gut is her preferred method), but for the time being it's the most effective one. The motley crew she's accumulated since Taris and onwards is no army, but they'll still be a significant help once she's off to find the Star Maps (again).

Much of the time meditating is spend in such contemplation, but the struggle eventually produces two perfectly suitable lightsaber crystals. On the evening of the second day Revan weighs the newly finished products in her hands and grins with weary satisfaction.

The precious stones gleam in the dimly lit room. She can sense the Force within them – they feel… _different_ than her old crystals. She's keen to test them out.

She's brought out of her musings when Bastila's voice cuts through the silence, condescending tone and all. "I would never use the Force for such petty and trivial revenge. The mere thought of it is preposterous!"

Mission is with her. The Twi'lek presses her companion rather insistently, "Aww come on, there's _gotta_ be times when you've thought about it. Don't be so stuck up, you can tell me!" The conversation grows louder as they slowly move towards Revan. She listens with interest.

"I am NOT stuck up. I merely have the years of Jedi training to realize how childish such an act would be." is Bastila's indignant reply. Revan struggles to keep a straight face.

"Childish? Is that a crack about my age? You ain't much older than me, miss 'high and mighty'! Just 'cause you're some Jedi, doesn't mean you can be a prissy little–"

There's a solid thump. Her brows shoot up in bemused surprise. She hasn't just overheard a crime being committed, has she? She doesn't have to worry as Mission angrily splutters, "What the - ? Hey! That wasn't funny!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mission. Please, do try to be less clumsy in the future."

Revan is nothing short of amazed. Had the straight-laced Jedi really just used the Force for a _joke_? The Masters would be appalled.

There may be hope for her yet.

Finding it the perfect time to make herself known, Revan slips out of the meditation chamber and greets her visitors with a smile. "You two getting along?" She drawls.

"You could say that." Mission exudes sarcasm. Her lekkus twitch irritably.

Bastila's expression is neutral, though the faint red in her cheeks betrays the earlier squabble. Revan graciously chooses not to bring it up. "I've come to check up on your progress." The Jedi informs her evenly. "Mission did not see you come to any meal today, and although the construction of your lightsaber is an important responsibility, it should not come before your health."

"Why Shan, you should be more careful. I do believe your concern is showing." Revan raises a brow. She's assumed Bastila kept an eye on her because of the knowledge of her true identity and because the Jedi Council will want to keep her in check – but her concern is genuine. There's no hidden agenda in this get-together. And _that_ is a welcome surprise.

There's always been an undercurrent of resentment toward the Jedi ever since Revan discovered the Force Bond they share. But today she merely feels mildly amused and – with Bastila's reminder – rather hungry.

"You should not be so startled," Bastila tells her, affronted, "to discover that I do indeed care for your well-being. We have, after all, trained together for almost a month." There's an edge of hurt in her usually aristocratic tone, all too easy for Revan to pick out thanks to their Bond. The more time they spend together, the easier it is for her to utilize the connection to her advantage.

A funny idea arises – could the Jedi actually be beginning to consider her a _friend_? Revan abruptly realizes that she has never seen the Jedi with any individuals of similar age – no friends to speak of. She obviously takes the Jedi Code to heart, perhaps more so than any other young Padawan.

Bastila can be said to be the model Jedi, but it's the same adherence to the Jedi Code that makes it so difficult for her to associate with others. A Force Bond would overcome that obstacle – the two of them were, in a way, emotionally attached.

No feelings of abject horror or disgust emerge at the thought (in fact, Bastila's the one who should be feeling horrified at being linked to a supposedly amnesic Sith Lord, and Revan is somewhat impressed by how the Jedi's fared thus far) – only that maybe she should invite Bastila to dinner. So she does. "Have you guys eaten yet? I can cook a mean stew if you'd care to join me in the dining hall."

Mission's eyes light up. Homemade meals are something of a novelty to the Twi'lek (and probably more appetizing than cantina grub or a swoop gang's idea of good food). Whenever she could be bothered to experiment in the kitchen, her younger shadow would always be a willing taste tester. "Ugh, I kinda feel like Big Z with his eight square meals a day. But I can't say no to that."

Bastila is not as open with her emotions, thanks to years of Jedi teachings. But she can sense the Jedi's cold exterior quickly breaking down. "If you'd be willing to have me." She softly agrees, unusually shy.

Revan allows a pleased smile. "Great! You guys are washing the dishes."

* * *

Somehow the dark presence out on the Dantooine plains turns out to be Revan's problem. After presenting the Council with her finished lightsabers, she finds herself traversing the endless grassy fields in search of the old meditation grove.

Revan is running errands again. She'd thought the Order would find the looming Sith menace to be _slightly _more important than purging a patch of land of dark taint. She's wrong, of course. From firsthand experience Revan can conclude that the Councils' priorities are maddeningly, hair wrenchingly_, unreliable_.

She tells no one of her trial and brings no one with her to the grove. The job will be easier if she doesn't have to hold back. A lone figure kneels among the ruins, darkness palpable in the air around them. It's a newborn darkness, strong and wild, angry and painful.

"You there!" Revan tactfully greets.

The figure stands – she recognizes the Dark Jedi's species as Cathar. She's surprised – the Cathar home world had been one of the first to be destroyed by the Mandalorians, the Cathar themselves nearly brought to the point of extinction. She gets no chance to ask what a Cathar is doing all the way on Dantooine as she's sent flying by a powerful shove. She tumbles through the grass head over tail and catches the bright flash of a lightsaber bearing down on her. The blade finds nothing but dirt as Revan rolls to the side and leaps to her feet and activates her own purple blades.

"That was a dirty start!" She shouts with more playfulness than malice. She takes a moment to enjoy the familiar weight of the weapons in her hands before parrying the Cathar's next attack. _Force_ she hasn't known how much she's missed the sound of energy blade on energy blade until this moment – the crackling thrum as they meet again and again. It's like reuniting with old friends, just as using the Force felt like _breathing _again. The unadulterated freedom makes her fight with fierce enthusiasm.

They exchange another flurry of blows, but now that the Cathar has lost the element of surprise, Revan is overpowering. Her opponent tries to paralyze her, tries to shock her – tries to draw on the power of the dark side to _stop _her tireless advance. But she shrugs off the attempts without breaking stride. The darkness is powerful, but inexperience can be an equally powerful fetter. Every violent strike propels the Cathar backwards, step by step, until there is nowhere left for her to go. She's brought to her knees.

"You… you are strong. Stronger than me, even in my darkness." The Cathar concedes. Sh shuts her eyes, resigned to her fate.

Revan stills. Her lightsaber hovers a hair's breadth from the Cathar's neck. A flick of her wrist and one of them would soon find themselves lacking a head. But she inhales sharply and retracts the blade. Her weapons fall uselessly to her sides and she ignores her instincts screaming at her for showing weakness to an enemy.

"I didn't come to kill you. Not the Jedi way and all that hooey." She receives a wary look for her lackluster declaration. Revan holds the other's gaze and studies her strange, yellow eyes. Her first question jumps insistently on her tongue. "So what's a Cathar doing on Dantooine?"

The Cathar's disbelieving. The question is unexpected. "I wished to become a Jedi." She says slowly.

"I – yeah, I got that. Congrats, by the way. Seems like you… made it?" It's probably not the opportune time to be holding a conversation on personal life choices. Revan reluctantly returns to the matter at hand. "So who are you and what are you doing here?"

The Cathar introduces herself as Juhani. Revan discovers – out of all the theatrical talk of the dark side – that she has killed her Master, a woman named Quatra, and then fled to this grove. She isn't sure what Juhani was trying to accomplish so far from civilization; all she's done is upset the Kath Hounds.

But Revan knows what the Council wants her to do. They're testing the waters – seeing if their little mental experiment is a true success. Can their amnesic ex-Sith Lord bring a one of their own back to the path of light?

Itwould prove nothing, of course – all you need are the right words. But if redemption is what the Council wants, redemption is what they'll get.

* * *

"What happened to you?" Carth asks with furrowed brows when she arrives on the _Ebon Hawk_.

"What?" Revan blinks. The pilot reaches out with a hand and plucks something from her hair – a twig from the grassland she's been unknowingly wearing since her encounter with Juhani – before looking at her expectantly. "Oh. That." She has the grace to look sheepish. "Third trial for the Council. Had a minor dispute with an… errant Jedi."

"You went out into the plains _alone_, looking to fight a Dark Jedi?" He summarizes incredulously.

"I wouldn't consider her a Dark Jedi…" Revan muses aloud. "She _thought _she'd killed her Master, but it was all a test. A nasty test, but in the end no one lost their life. I'd say she'd dabbled, at the most."

"'_Dabbling_' in dark forces that could have killed you." The pilot looks _worried_. She can't help smiling at his concern.

"As you can see, I made it back in one piece."

"I'd still appreciate being kept in the loop." He frowns pensively. Revan gets the impression he isn't simply talking about this instance. That frown is becoming much too familiar; she sees him wearing it almost constantly, the longer they spend on Dantooine. She's not the only one growing restless.

"I'm heading out to investigate the nearby ruins." She informs him. "Come with us? I can always use an extra blaster." Maybe the pilot will ease up if he has something to do – or something to shoot.

He pauses for only a second. "Of course."

The walk to the ruins is a short one. The sloped structure is built halfway into the ground, and from a distance it could be mistaken for one of the many nondescript hills making up Dantooine's plains. Revan finds it ironic that a pile of rubble is all that is left of the Rakatan legacy, where once it had been an empire that spanned countless star systems.

Well, there's also the Star Forge. Though like everything else built by the Rakatan, it's been lost to time.

But that's why Revan is standing in front of the ancient entryway once again. She places a hand on the stone and sends a gentle pulse of Force energy through it. The door shudders under her touch and opens like the jaws of a sleeping giant.

"Aria, I am curious…" Bastila murmurs as they step into the dim antechamber of the ruins. The air is cold and stagnant. Her voice seems muted as she continues, as if stifled by the darkness. "How did you know the method of gaining entrance?"

"The vision." She lies. "That's what Revan did." It's bizarre to refer to herself in third person, but the Jedi buys her excuse and nods.

"I see. Well, I will advise treading lightly as we proceed. The dark side is strong within this place."

"Maybe it's the cold." She jokes and earns an unimpressed glare. "Lightly treading." She appeases, rolling her eyes. The Jedi isn't wrong; the ruins practically ooze dark energy from the engraved walls; it's rather excessive. Even the non-Force sensitive pilot feels it, if his body language provides any indication. His hands remain on top of his holstered guns while his eyes move across the area sharply, searching for any possible threats.

"Are you scared?" She can't help but tease as they make their way slowly through the shadowy ruins.

"This place is somewhat… unsettling." Carth admits with a raised brow. "You'd think the Jedi would have at least taken a look at it in all the time they've been on Dantooine."

"The Order never found it pertinent. These ruins were always thought to be old burial grounds." Bastila, true to form, is quick to jump to the Jedis' defense.

"Guess they were wrong." Revan can't help but point out and is surprised when the Jedi doesn't argue. It probably has something to do with the old droid they've suddenly stumbled across. She realizes she's the only one who hasn't reached for her weapon. "Hello there. You're not going to attack us, are you?" She greets the familiar machine and waits for it to cycle through its various languages to find one that they'll understand.

Three dead languages later the droid begins speaking Selkath. "I am not programmed for combat. This temple's own protections will destroy those who seek knowledge of the Star Forge if they are deemed unworthy." It tells her bluntly.

"What is the 'Star Forge'?" Bastila questions at the mention of the Rakatan war machine.

"The Star Forge is the glory of the Builders, the apex of their infinite empire. It is a machine of invincible might, a tool of unstoppable conquest." The droid proclaims.

"Can you clarify?" She presses.

"The Star Forge is the glory of the Builders, the apex of their infinite empire. It is a machine of invincible might, a tool of unstoppable conquest." The droid repeats. Revan keeps silent, allowing her companions to continue their queries. She barely listens to the grandiose portrayal of the Builders, or the discussion of the twenty thousand years that have passed since the construction of this ruined temple. Her interest has been caught by something else – an ambiguous shape in a dark corner of the room. She eyes the thing curiously; it isn't rubble – too rumpled looking. Then recognition hits her: it's a body.

"The ones who came before you - the ones like you, not Builders but not slaves - sought knowledge of the Star Forge and its origins. They proved themselves worthy. They discovered the secrets of the Star Forge locked beyond the sealed doors behind me. But there was another who failed to unlock the secrets and paid the ultimate price." The droid is saying when Revan slips behind the machine to take a closer look at the corpse.

"I think I've found the one who failed." She calls out. The Council had sent another Jedi to investigate the ruins a day prior, and she's certain this is the very same man. "I think I've found Nemo."

There's the soft rustle of cloth as Bastila kneels beside her. "Yes… you are correct. Poor Nemo." She whispers and shuts the late Jedi's eyes with a gentle hand. "We must bring him back to the enclave to give him a proper funeral."

Revan has cremated too many Jedi in her lifetime. She isn't looking forward to sending yet another one off and is grateful when Carth interjects. "I agree that we can't leave him here, but we can do that later, after we've finished the task at hand."

"Of course." Bastila quietly assents. Revan has long since become accustomed to the feeling that it's now white static in the back of her mind, but the younger woman is still shaken by the death of fellow Jedi. She places a hand briefly on the woman's slender shoulder and stands.

"Guess our trip isn't going to be all fun and games." She declares and activates her lightsabers. "Best be prepared to be shot at."

* * *

Although Revan has done it once before, the temple's trial turns out to be more challenging than she remembers. She kicks the wreckage of the broken droid and scowls. "For an antique the damn thing was durable…" Her expression turns eager as an idea strikes her. "We should take one with us."

Bastila is quick to respond. "You _are not_ taking it back."

"I can try rebuilding it. We could find valuable information from this thing!" Revan protests. She's excited at the thought of having a new project to work on. She's always had a fascination with droids. She turns to Carth, looking for support, but he only shakes his head apologetically.

"It's dangerous unknown technology. I don't welcome the thought having one on the ship."

"Killjoys." She sighs disappointedly and kicks the scrap metal out of her way.

They enter the once-barred door leading to the Star Map. The Rakatan relic comes to life with their approach, casting a pale light over the chamber. Bastila stops in front of the Star Map, studying it intently.

"This... this must be what Revan and Malak found when they entered this temple. This must be where their journey down the dark side began."

The temple is one of many points of interest Revan visited _after _her 'journey down the dark side began', but she isn't going to correct the Jedi. "Must be a very evil map." She says astutely.

Bastila ignores her and continues to think aloud. "Revan and Malak must have used this to lead them to the Star Forge. We could use this map to follow their path and find the Star Forge ourselves. But we must be wary... they may have laid traps or concealed what they found."

Revan has not, in fact, laid traps at any of the locations of the Star Maps, and is thankful for her past negligence. It will make retracing her steps slightly less painful.

"But what is the Star Forge, exactly?" Carth asks as he stops beside the Jedi to take a closer look at the map himself. "We can't simply run off searching for some vague concept of a weapon Revan and Malak may or may not have found. We barely have any information to go on."

"I… I don't know," Bastila admits, but her lips form a stubborn line, "but they were very interested in finding it. I think this map might be the key to finding the Star Forge, whatever it is." Her eyes sweep over the map once more, fingers tracing slow lines as she follows an invisible path through the miniature galaxy.

She doesn't say anything for a long moment, as if mesmerized, and then her voice comes quietly. "…And see this world here? This looks like Korriban, a Sith world. And if that's Korriban, then this is Kashyyyk… and Tatooine… and here's Manaan." She becomes hesitant as her hand finishes its journey and drops to her side. "But there are pieces missing: incomplete hyperspace coordinates, corrupted data... and there doesn't seem to be anything indicating where the Star Forge itself might be."

Carth frowns, his earlier point proven. "What good is an incomplete map?"

Bastila's words are steadier as she continues. She's a Jedi and consequently sees no coincidences when the Force is a part of events. "This map can't take us to the Star Forge, but I know that Revan and Malak visited Korriban at least once. Perhaps they discovered something more there. They may have found something on each of the other worlds that completed this map. Maybe if we find all the pieces they will lead us to the Star Forge... and some way to destroy it."

The pilot, on the other hand, does not put much trust in faith alone. He eyes her dubiously. "That sounds like quite a supposition. What if you're wrong?"

"What if I'm right? We can't ignore this. Finding the Star Forge might very well be the key to defeating the Sith!" Bastila shoots back.

"Sounds fun. Impractical missions seem to be turning into our specialty." Revan adds lightly, cutting off any debates.

Bastila nods. "We must inform the Council of what we have discovered. They must decide our next course of action, though I suspect our task has only just begun."

* * *

"You've been more reticent than usual, you know that?" Revan comments from her spot in the co-pilot's seat as they enter hyperspace. She's had experience flying ships, but for the most part Revan is in the cockpit for the company.

Carth's expression has been stony ever since they departed from Dantooine, only the slightest quirk of his lips giving away his discontent. She's come to call it the pilot's 'broody face'. "Have I been quiet? I suppose I have. I guess I just don't like being left out of the loop." He says flatly. His eyes keep forward, focused at the controls.

"You were born out of the loop." She jokes. "You're not even in orbit."

"Very cute. If you got any cuter, you'd pass for a Gamorrean's sister." Carth doesn't even crack a smile.

"Better than a Gamorrean's mother." Revan tries, but the pilot either has an incredible pazaak face or he's really in _that bad_ of a mood.

"Look, I'm serious. No one seems to want to tell me anything, and it's starting to irritate me." He's definitely been brooding. Revan supposes the sudden sendoff by the Council was the last straw.

Instead of giving a witty comeback, she decides to be diplomatic. "Well what would you like to know?"

"For one thing, I want to know what the Jedi Council said to you. They pulled you in there and refused to tell me a thing about it."

It's true that as soon as she and Bastila had finished their discussion with the Council, they'd set course for Tatooine with little regard for the pilot's opinion. If Revan hadn't known what she knows now, she's sure she wouldn't have been so willing to consent to the Council's wishes either. Unfortunately, the truth would only make matters worse. She observes the blue corridor of hyperspace from her window and tells him carefully, "They thought it was more important that I find the Star Maps than stay."

"And why is that? You were a great help on Taris, but why would they keep you with us? Don't they... don't they have to train you?" His tone is strained, as if he's making an effort to keep his frustration in check.

"I've told you before: it's the will of the Force. It's _destiny_. Or the Jedi like to think so."

Her explanation isn't enough to satisfy the pilot. The dam is beginning to break. "Even the Jedi wouldn't be so careless as to send a green recruit out on a mission they think is crucial to the safety of the Republic. You're a neophyte Padawan who's been saddled with the responsibility of tracking down these Star Maps. Why? That's not normal!" He grits out, upset by how little he knows about this '_mission'_ he's obligated to take part in and the complete lack of information in all the weeks he's been stuck on Dantooine while Revan has been playing Jedi apprentice.

"I don't think you understand that _Jedi _is synonymous with illogical." Revan distantly notes that one day her inappropriately timed jokes will end badly for her.

The pilot's jaw works tightly and she can sense the mounting tension. "I may not know much about the Jedi, but I do know they aren't famous for taking on old Padawans and sending them on dangerous assignments."

"I've done pretty well so far." Revan states evenly. How in the world is she supposed to disarm the situation? Riling the pilot of the starship she's currently aboard is not one of the smartest ideas she's ever had. But even as the thought occurs, she finds she's gnashing her teeth.

"That's completely beside the point. The Jedi encouraged you to stay with us, and I don't believe the reasons they gave."

"…And you don't trust anything I've said." She finishes. Carth's doubt is evident, and it _bothers her _that he still trusts her so little.

"No, it's not… It's just…" Carth falters, concentration slipping from the controls to Revan for the first time since they began this conversation-turned-argument. His expression is guarded. "There are things you aren't telling me. Things that you're hiding."

"I've told you all I can." Revan tells him curtly. _Calm_. She's going to stay _calm_ and _composed_. She's going to be _the _modelJedi.

"And I'm supposed to believe that? The Jedi have you locked up for weeks and are now sending us on a tach chase for something we haven't got the faintest clue -"

"It's called _trust _Onasi. A concept you should revisit if you're going stay on this ship." She snaps. Carth stiffens at the warning – Revan isn't leading their current mission, but she can't keep the cold edge of command from her voice.

Carth's expression darkens and he glares out the window, hands clenched on the ship's controls. "…I'll tell you this much... I am _not_ going to wait around until I'm betrayed again."

The accusation stings. Revan is standing before she even realizes she's left her seat. "Get it through your thick skull already: I'm not going to betray you! I'm not your damned Admiral!"

Before he can respond Revan has stormed out of the cockpit. The pilot's words disturb her more than she likes. It's because he's _right_, and Revan can't do a damn thing about it.

_Is there a way to politely introduce yourself as the former Dark Lord of the Sith?_

* * *

**A/N: I literally started a new game of KotoR just so I could write down all the dialogue. The plus side of this is that I downloaded a mod that put back a lot of KotoR's cut dialogue! It's interesting to read/hear all the content that never made it to the final game. Did you know there was a planned option to ask each companion what they thought of the rest of the crew? Or that almost every companion had an opinion of each planet you visit! You'll probably see some of that content in the story.**

**Also, I apologize if this chapter feels like filler. Though admittedly, it is. Dantooine wasn't the most exciting world in the game. This time round I was setting up character interactions and such for later on (not too much humor in this chapter either, unfortunately). Hopefully more will happen on Tatooine (stay tuned)!**


	9. Red and Yellow

**Chapter 9: Red and Yellow**

"Of all the places we could've picked, why'd we visit the dry, sandy, and blisteringly hot one?" Mission moans as they wander the arid grounds of Anchorhead. Revan isn't eager to traverse the desert world either, but she still maintains it as a better option than infiltrating the Sith burial grounds of Korriban, or diving for the Star Map on Manaan (oh how she isn't looking forward to that one).

"You can keep Zaalbar company." She offers. The Wookie's confined to the _Ebon Hawk _for the time they're on Tatooine; all that thick fur is a hazard in such hot climates. But Mission merely shakes her head and heaves a sigh.

"No thanks. Who knows how long we'll be here? I feel for Big Z, but there're only so many games of Pazaak a girl can play before going crazy."

"That's true." Revan chuckles. She knows the Star Map's in a cave out in the Dune Sea, but the desert will have changed in the time she's been gone. Trying to find the relic with her vague, outdated information will be like using an old-fashioned compass to navigate deep space. The thought of trekking through the scorched wasteland that is Tatooine's desert without a clear destination makes her terribly thirsty. "…Think there's a cantina in Anchorhead?" Revan wonders wistfully.

Bastila shoots her a reproving look. "If we wish to cut down the time, we'll need to begin our search immediately."

"Well what better place to begin than a cantina? Whether you're a criminal or some poor sod after a hard day's work, everyone ends up where the beer is." Revan reasons, but the Jedi is not convinced.

"We should not turn to such unsavory locales unless necessary." She chides.

Juhani watches them curiously and then gestures to a passing man dressed in a yellow and green Czerka uniform. "Perhaps the locals can provide us with information. Czerka has mining operations in the desert, does it not? They may have seen something."

"But the Czerka Corporation is also a company with the dubious reputation for being unethically opportunistic." Revan points out. "Remember their affiliation with the Sith? Doesn't that count as an 'unsavory locale'?" She isn't looking forward to doing business with the company again. They've always rubbed her the wrong way. They're worse than Kath hounds and only _marginally_ better than Sith apprentices – you show a scrap of weakness, and they're at your throat with legal waivers and lawyers (and bounty hunters and black market modded blasters), never mind the fact that there's a war going on.

"Well we _are _in a Czerka controlled outpost." Mission unhelpfully notes. "We can't avoid them, you know? Well, we can try, but unless we all have stealth fields…"

Revan's lips set in a stubborn line. "I know," she sighs, "but I don't have to like it."

* * *

They locate Czerka Corporation's base of operations easily enough and arrive in time to hear the last of a furious Duros' tirade.

Revan isn't surprised.

"You'll be hearing about this, you Czerka puppet! I'm not going to let this drop! You can't just murder a whole village! And don't tell me to take my concerns to your corporate kiosk! I know when I'm not wanted!"

Revan watches the Duros storm out with interest. "What's this about murder?"

The woman in charge of the office looks at her with a pinched expression – or maybe she always looks like she's swallowed something sour. "It's nothing as unpleasant as you've just overheard."

"Care to clarify?"

The woman does not. She summarily drops the subject. "I'm sorry, but that really isn't your concern. Can I help you? These are the offices of Czerka Corporation. I trust you have business with the company?"

Having only grudgingly entered the building, Revan is in no disposition to deal with the brusque attitude and readies a withering retort (aren't protocol officers' jobs to be _polite?_) – only to have Bastila cut her off. "Yes, we are trying to locate an… artifact." The Jedi informs the woman politely. "Have your workers ever stumbled across any ruins out in the Dune Sea?"

The woman affords them a forced smile of apology. "I haven't heard of any such artifact. If you're archeologists or treasure hunters, I'm afraid you won't be able to search for it yourselves as we are no longer selling hunting licenses. There are too many people cavorting outside the walls as it is."

Revan narrows her eyes in disbelief. "And _why_ would we need a license?"

"We use them to insure that only people judged fit by Czerka Corporation are allowed outside the city. We don't allow casual exploration because of legal concerns. Czerka Corporation takes no responsibility for loss of life on the dunes." The smile remains unwavering through the entire explanation; Revan finds it grating as well as creepy. Force, she hates Czerka.

Bastila purses her lips, undeterred by the news. "But this is… rather important to us. There has to be some way to acquire a license."

The woman eyes the four of them, gaze lingering on the weapons each of them carries. "Well… we normally charge two hundred credits, but I could ask for an exception if you agreed to perform a task for us." She considers slowly. "It's similar to hunting. The Sand People are becoming a problem. They destroy our sandcrawlers and kill our miners. One particular tribe is the worst. It's as if their chieftain has decided to wage a war against us. I would like their attacks... terminated." There's no malice in her words – for this woman, wiping out an entire clan is simple business.

Force, she _hates_ Czerka.

Revan may not like the Sand People, but genocide is high up on her list of Things That Revan Definitely Does Not Approve Of (the Mandalorians sure felt her disapproval). Her hands itch for the lightsabers at her sides. Instead, she steps forward and meets the woman's gaze with a dark glower of her own. She hears Bastila breathe sharply at the sudden burst of anger.

The protocol officer also notices the sudden shift in mood. Her smile widens to an unnatural degree, but Revan can sense her unease. The woman takes the slightest step back as she holds out a hand in placation. "I'm sorry, but if you can't agree to the terms then I can't provide you with a license."

Revan's voice is forceful to the point of threatening. "We won't do your dirty work. You _want_ to give us a hunting license, free of charge."

The effect is instantaneous. The protocol officer's face goes slack. She nods numbly. "I… have reconsidered my proposition. I think I'll give you a hunting license, free of charge."

Five minutes later they leave the Czerka office with a brand new hunting license and considerably less killing intent.

"I cannot approve of your haphazard use of the Force." Bastila reprimands the second the door shuts behind them. Her expression is wary. Revan understands the Jedi's concern – she's never lost her temper to such a degree in the time Bastila has known her; even when she'd discovered the Force Bond between the Jedi and her, she'd been able to keep her anger in check. Hopefully, she'll forget the incident once they're baking out on the dunes.

"Well it wasn't as if we were going to accept the job." Revan grumbles. "You _never _accept contracts from Czerka – those sharks will eat you alive."

"Well I'm glad we won't have to go around listening to Czerka." Mission pipes up, making a face. "She gave me the creeps."

Bastila shifts from Mission to Revan and huffs when she sees her concerns aren't shared. "We still have little idea of where the Star Map may be, and now the option of questioning Czerka is closed to us." She reminds them.

"Answers shall come to us with time." Juhani calms the Jedi in her soft, accented manner. "It has been little more than half a day since we first arrived on Tatooine. We need patience."

"And liquor." Revan interjects.

"You can drink on your own time." Bastila informs her briskly, a hand to her temple. She looks pained – they're certainly not the easiest group to handle. Revan almost feels sorry for her. "We shall return to the _Ebon Hawk _for the time being. Perhaps Carth will prove more helpful." The Jedi mutters.

Revan can't agree with the decision – they've barely explored Anchorhead (granted, there isn't much _to _explore), and she's in no mood to deal with the pilot who she's been avoiding ever since the fiasco in the cockpit. Not without a few beers, at least. "You head back – I'm going to find that cantina." She tells the tired woman.

"Very well," Bastila sighs, "but I cannot condone wandering off by yourself."

"I will accompany her." Juhani quietly volunteers. She turns to Revan. "If you are willing to have me?"

Revan shrugs. "Why not? The more the merrier."

* * *

"I feel I must apologize for the way I acted towards you before, in the grove. It was wrong of me."

Juhani's sudden apology in the middle of the streets of Anchorhead catches Revan by surprise. She turns to the Cathar bemusedly. "It was nothing. No harm no foul, right?"

But Juhani shakes her head and continues repentantly. "I am sorry for attacking you. I am sorry for thinking you would only try to kill me. I hope that by helping you in your task I may redeem myself in your eyes… and my own."

Revan's had countless heads bowed to her in the past begging for forgiveness and a second chance, but the Cathar's apology causes more discomfort than any of the Sith she's once commanded and damned if that isn't surreal. She hasn't helped Juhani out of kindness – she isn't the goodhearted Jedi the Cathar makes her out to be.

Revan is most definitely _not_ the person to be asking for forgiveness when you fall.

The uncomfortable ex-Sith Lord scans the short domed structures of Anchorhead and is deeply relieved to catch sight of what she's looking for. "Oh, look – the cantina!" Revan leaves little time for Juhani to continue her apology as she hurries to the building.

* * *

The cantina turns out to be a single dim, smoky room, filled with the hum of conversation (legal and otherwise) and the low purr of a holographic band. It smells strongly of spice and a more unpleasant undercurrent of sweat, as if the cantina's owner had tried to hide the odor of numerous unwashed bodies, realized it as a lost cause, and promptly gave up.

"Cozy." Revan notes with a dry smile.

"That is one word for it." Juhani takes in the grubby cantina with cool familiarity and only the faintest hint of disgust. Revan's impressed; she's certain Bastila would have taken one look at the place and ran.

"You aren't from Dantooine." She observes.

Juhani pauses to look at her, surprised. "Yes… you are correct."

"Where did you grow up?" Revan tilts her head towards the stools; they sit before Juhani answers. The Cathar looks meaningfully at the cantina and its shady denizens.

"The hind end of space. A pit of a world, to be sure. Where Jedi rarely tread..."

"But you ended up a Jedi."

"We had heard of them. Well, everyone had, so that is not to be unexpected." A remembering smile graces her lips. "Champions of truth. Defenders of justice. Heroes of the Republic. It was very easy for a child to be enthralled by their image, their mystique. Maybe I was one of those children."

_Heroes of the Republic... Where were they when the Mandalorians wiped out your race?_ Revan resists the urge to voice the thought. It wouldn't be very smart, and she's certain Juhani wouldn't appreciate it. "Did you meet a Jedi?" She asks instead.

"Yes... Yes I did. When I saw a Jedi for the first time they lived up to everything my imagination had created them to be. I was awed... and maybe a bit enamored..."

Revan grins at that. "Too bad Jedi are practically celibate. Can't be too exciting."

Juhani blinks rapidly, but to the Cathar's credit, she remains largely unruffled. "They were quite striking... especially the tales of their leader." She stares at her hands, neatly folded in front of her, and her eyes shine with reverence. "From that moment on I knew that I would have to try to become a Jedi. To lift myself out of the rut I had been living in for years and to make a real difference, as the Jedi were.

The foolish delusions of a child. But this child made it happen! As soon as I was able I left my world and went in search of them. I found them and was accepted. I had been living my dream on Dantooine for several years before you came."

"Sounds like the life." Revan agrees with thinly veiled sarcasm. Juhani takes no offense, caught up in her own thoughts. But the warmth of her memories can't keep the regret from her voice.

" Although... perhaps I was not entirely ready for it... or not completely suited to the task. Otherwise I would not have fallen..." Her gold eyes catch Revan's, and there is determination them. "But thanks to you I have been redeemed. Perhaps I may yet live to see that dream of mine come true."

Again there is that… _respect_. Respect for a façade Revan's created to progress through her mission as smoothly as possible. It won't be pretty if any one of her companions discovers who she really is, but the thought of maintaining her ruse is tiring. She doesn't use lies to advance her agenda – she's no politician. She's accustomed to people following her because they believe it's the _right thing to do_.

Then again, she can't honestly believe that after taking on the mantle as Dark Lord of the Sith (bastards even blew up her flagship).

She's reminded abruptly of what's changed in not only the year that she wasn't herself, but the many years since she went to war, and all of it is unwelcome and requires a drink to remedy.

Catching the bartender's attention, Revan slams her credits on the table and stares at the man forcefully. "Bring me your strongest."

* * *

That's how Revan discovers Tatooine Sunrise. There's a surprising kick to such an innocuously named drink; a blend of bright yellows and deep reds that's as strong as it is sweet. Drinking has always been more of a placebo than an effective cure to the affliction of thinking too much, but for the first time in months, Revan exits a cantina agreeably _drunk_.

"I can't wait to be off of this rock, but I'll miss the cantina." She happily tells the sky which is a pretty shade of red Revan thinks would taste like apples.

"I will not be sorry to see this place behind me." Juhani agrees as she watches the tipsy ex-Sith Lord with curiosity. Jedi never engage in such frivolous activities such as drinking, so she must be an odd sight indeed.

Revan's glad she's never been a very good Jedi.

Thankfully, being a good Jedi has nothing to do with being perceptive. Even drunk, Revan is able to catch the metallic glint of lightsabers peeking out of brown colored robes from an impressive ways away. The robed figures themselves seem harmless enough (for people departing Czerka Corp's offices), but she can sense their hidden intentions. There's dark energies emanating from the strangers, and she's certain the next few minutes are going to be more exciting than she's anticipated.

Revan glances to Juhani who has tensed beside her. The Cathar has noticed the company as well and grimly meets her gaze. They never break their stride, pretending not to notice the strangers, and Revan shifts their course from a direct route to the _Ebon Hawk _to a roundabout stroll through scarcely populated streets. When she sees the strangers keeping pace behind them, she carries on walking until the streets are empty.

Revan chooses that moment to stop and turns on her heels to face their unwelcomed company. "We're not interested in whatever you're selling." She informs them with a smile, appearing completely relaxed save for the hand gripping her lightsaber.

"There's no choice in the matter." One of the figures steps forward and Revan catches the glow of yellow eyes reflecting the red of Tatooine's setting suns. _Sith_.

"What do you want with us?" Juhani hisses.

The same man answers. "Lord Malak was most displeased to hear you made it off Taris alive."

"A pity. I was rather pleased myself." Revan's cool smile becomes a fierce grin. It's two against three – they're one fighter short, and the disadvantage makes her pulse quicken. She's drunk on adrenaline when she taunts him, "You must be pretty weak if you need to bring an extra underling to take care of us."

The angry red of Sith sabers spring life with a serpent hiss. "And you must be a fool." The man's eyes have narrowed to yellow slits and the three quickly close the distance. One of the Dark Jedi lunges at Juhani, who dodges the attack with feline grace and draws her attacker a safe distance away. The other two remain on Revan, and only at the last second does she strafe to the side to avoid twin blades from running her through. With momentum carrying them forward, Revan sticks out a foot to set one of the men off balance and brings down her blades with vicious strength.

Her sabers never touch the Dark Jedi as her second attacker sends his lightsaber flying toward her own. Her attack is parried and the downed Sith rolls to the side and leaps away to safety.

"Neat trick." Revan remarks as the two regroup and charge her once more. She ducks and dances and deflects the blows, getting more of a workout than she's had in a year. Jedi battles take more concentration than simple swordfights; one wrong move means certain death – armor won't stop an energy blade, flesh and bone may as well be butter. She notes that she'll have to put in some time for practice, since her reactions are definitely more sluggish than she recalls and she's having a strange issue with depth perception (that's probably the Tatooine Sunrise hard at work), and she's rather fond of keeping all her limbs.

But she's still more of a match for two mediocre Sith (while drunk, at that!). They can't break through her defense, and once Revan finds an opening she sends out a shockwave of Force that flings them like ragdolls. One of them skips across the ground and ends up a ways away, while the other flies into the side of a building. Large clouds of dust billow through the sky, disturbed by the action, but Revan doesn't need vision to locate the position of the closest Dark Jedi. She closes the distance in a matter of seconds, allowing the man no time to defend himself as she skewers him.

The smell of burnt flesh is quick to settle in, but Revan is more distracted by the fact that the second Dark Jedi has not reappeared to take advantage of the distraction of his comrade's death.

That's when she remembers she's not the only target.

_Shit_.

The second Dark Jedi has gone after Juhani, who's still in combat with her own. Even if she realizes the lightsaber making its way towards her unprotected back, Revan isn't so certain the Cathar will be able to react in time, and she's too far to cover the other Jedi.

So Revan decides there's only one perfectly reasonable thing to do.

She throws her lightsaber.

The purple blade goes spinning like some sort of neon propeller, humming through the air with a life of its own, and finally finds its target – the second Dark Jedi's arm. There's a sharp cry of agony as the now one-armed Sith stumbles backwards, his weapon now on the ground along with the hand gripping it.

"Neat trick." Revan repeats as she catches her lightsaber on its return, beaming. "I can do it too."

Juhani takes advantage of the distraction, making quick work of her first attacker in short and brutal strikes. He falls over, dead, leaving only the disarmed (_literally_, she thinks with a dark sort of humor and a stifled, drunken giggle) Dark Jedi kneeling with his only hand gripping his shoulder. There's no blood, the wound has cauterized instantly – the good thing about lightsabers is that they're rarely messy. Revan makes her way to Juhani and stops before the man.

"Kill me." He snarls through his pain. Juhani lifts her blue saber to comply, but wavers. Revan wonders if it's because she sees herself in this beaten man. She shouldn't – this man has most likely enacted more cruelty than she can ever think of.

Revan meets his bright yellow eyes. "First, tell us how Malak knows we're on Tatooine."

"You really are a fool." The man chokes out a dark laugh. "Kill me. It's a better fate than what lies for me if I were to return." He sneers up at Revan in a way no Sith would have dared to one year ago. "And is that not what you Jedipreach? _Mercy_?"

Revan taps her lightsaber thoughtfully. "I'm not a very good Jedi." She admits.

Juhani stares at Revan, expression one of profound unease. "What shall we do with him?"

"Jedi never kill unarmed targets." Revan muses. She studies the Dark Jedi – he's dangerous simply because he can use the Force, but at least he can no longer take up a blade. "You won't suddenly see the error of your ways and turn back to the light side, will you?" She asks hopefully. Her answer is a dark glower. She sighs. "Of course not."

Maybe it's the drink talking, or maybe some of the Jedi's damn code is finally sticking, but she knows she won't kill this man. She hopes it won't come back to bite her in the rear. "We'll take him prisoner." She decides, and a hard look silences any objections Juhani may have. "We can't turn him over to the authorities. This place is run by Czerka, and they'll definitely let him go. We can't risk it – he might report back to Malak, even though he's dead once his usefulness is over."

The man says nothing. She studies his yellow Sith eyes one last time. When had it stopped being a surprise for her to look in a mirror and see no yellow? "Don't waste this second chance, pal." She tells him bluntly.

Revan expects another sneer, angry words, maybe even a litany of curses and threats; what she doesn't expect is the smile. It only takes her a moment to notice the red lightsaber swooping in from behind. She ducks out of the way as the blade passes above, close enough to feel the air disturbed by the weapon's flight. But the Dark Jedi isn't aiming to kill her – she realizes this only after the red blade has ended up in the man's chest. He's dead before he hits the ground.

"Kriff!" Revan swears. She quickly pulls the saber out, but it's much too late. She lets out a string of expletives in a variety of languages until her heart stops racing.

"He chose death over redemption." murmurs Juhani, stunned.

"Not everyone agrees that what we offer is redemption." Revan grounds out, staring at the corpse with barely suppressed rage. She should be glad that the bastard killed himself – it makes her job easier. Yet she's angry, angrier than she should be over the death of some nameless Sith.

Revan's not drunk enough for this.

* * *

Once back on the _Ebon Hawk_, Revan calls a meeting in the main hold.

"You encountered Sith?" Bastila appears alarmed. "How is this possible? Were either of you injured?"

"I'm glad you made it back in one piece!" Mission exclaims, impressed.

"It's a shame I wasn't with you." Canderous growls, appearing somewhat put out.

"How did they know where we were?" Carth speaks up, troubled. "We only arrived on Tatooine today."

Revan finds the pilot's question most similar to her line of thinking. It's a worrying to imagine that Malak may know about their mission – it can only be worse if he's found out his old Master is still alive. "It's because…" She trails off as she recalls the incident with the protocol officer. That was most definitely her fault (though she'd rather eat week old synthesizer gunk than admit the fact to Bastila). "We had an encounter with Czerka. They probably pointed the Sith in our general direction." She finishes.

Carth furrows his brows. "I'm more concerned with the fact that they were on Tatooine in the first place."

"It's not surprising to have Sith on a Czerka planet– theydo business together. And Malak probably put out a notice for all Sith to be on the lookout for our fun little group. He'd like nothing better than to get his hands on Bastila, after all." Revan reasons. Said Jedi looks visibly ill at the mention of the Sith Lord's pasty, bony fingers on her person. It's unfortunate she isn't in the mood for jokes.

"Hopefully," Bastila struggles, "_that_ is the only reason. Malak cannot come to discover our task."

"Well we'd better hurry." Revan sighs. She's certain they haven't seen the last of the Sith on Tatooine, and if Malak, ever trigger-happy, discovers Bastila is here, they may as well just sentence the planet to a future as space dust. "Tomorrow we'll start our search bright and early."

The discussion goes on for another hour and ends with the decision that any group heading into Anchorhead will consist of at least three people to make sure they're not caught unprepared like they were today. Although it's still early, Revan is considerably relieved to be able to retire.

She's staring blankly up at the ceiling from her position in bed when Bastila enters the women's quarters and takes the bed beside hers. A steady silence keeps between them until Revan grows annoyed with Bastila's obvious intention to speak with her fighting with her hesitancy to begin a conversation.

"Shan, you can either use the bed for its intended purpose or at least _pretend_ you're not watching me." Revan tells her bluntly. Bastila stiffens in surprise but maintains her watchful gaze over the tired woman.

"You are troubled." She calmly utters. Revan finds the simple statement irksome enough to force herself upright to glare at the Jedi.

"No, of course not. Can't you tell? This is my happy face. It's a hit with children, you know."

Bastila throws her a sour look. "We share a bond. It is… difficult to keep silent when I sense that you are upset."

"You're such a sweetheart."

Bastila pointedly ignores her sarcasm and shoulders on. "Our connection allows us glimpses into each other's mind. We can feel some of what the other feels. And what I feel within you troubles me. A Padawan must receive considerable training. They must learn to control their emotions and darker impulses. Often it takes years before using the Force can be considered safe. The fact that you are so strong in the Force and have had such relatively little training could have terrible consequences. For you and for everyone around you."

Revan has to bite her tongue to keep from a vicious and possibly self-criminating response. Bastila has picked the absolute worst time to start one of her Jedi lectures. She breathes deeply and stares the younger woman straight in the eyes before saying, "I think I'm perfectly fine with the way I am."

"How so?" Bastila counters. "Self-control s a maxim for all Jedi. It is what gives us the strength to resist the dark side. All who have fallen from our Order have shown a flagrant disregard for such control." Her voice turns soft, but her words are accusing. "I've seen you give in to temptation and indulge your baser emotions on various occasions. I'm afraid you are on the path that leads to the dark side."

"And I'm afraid _you_ are on the path of exaggeration." Revan quips dourly and is rewarded with a tight lipped glare of reproach. Perhaps she's being childish, but Bastila isn't making it any easier for herself. Revan could be sleeping right now instead of ruining both of their already dampened moods. Bastila doesn't speak for a long moment, and she allows the flicker of hope that her sentiment has made it through their bond.

That hope is crushed more brutally than bug in a black hole as the younger woman sits up with an expression of pure determination. "You need to see what the dark side represents in its entirety, for it is what we battle. Only the wisdom of a Jedi Master can truly explain this, but I will do my best to make you understand."

_Force, kill me now_.

Whereas Bastila may think she's doing Revan a favor by helping her on some mistaken quest for 'redemption', Revan sees it as slow torture (and she knows torture). She scrabbles for some way out of the Jedi's impending sermon and decides to appeal to her ego. "I don't think that's necessary. The bond works both ways, doesn't it? With your ability, you'll keep me on the path of the light." She implores with a trace of desperation.

If nothing else, she renders the usually vocal Jedi speechless for an impressive minute. Revan is almost convinced she's grown a second head before Bastila coughs lightly and composes herself. "I will not fall for such an obvious ploy. Such immaturity is quite unbecoming, Aria."

Revan props her head in her hands to hide her amused grin and can't help but keep at it, "You could warn me when I do something bad. Blink once for dark side, twice for light."

"This is not a joke!" Bastila huffs, flustered. "The choices you make could affect both our destinies, not to mention the fate of the Republic and the entire galaxy!" She doesn't allow Revan an opportunity to speak, barely taking a breath as she continues. The words come out in a flurry of urgency and frustration. "You _will _understand the severity of your actions. The dark side is not simply giving in to anger or temptation to use the Force to destructive ends. These things only lead to the dark side. The dark side grows stronger and more insidious the closer you draw to it. It begs you to surrender to it, to release all its terrible power... and it becomes harder and harder to resist. And once you stop resisting, it is too late. It twists you up inside and... and turns you into a mockery of everything you once stood for!"

The sense of fun from the previous few minutes is gone in an instant. Revan maintains an air of affability, but she's afraid of what she'll say if the conversation carries on. "Stop with the dramatics already, I get the picture." She murmurs, but Bastila stubbornly ignores her entreaty.

"You say you understand, but I'm afraid you are taking this too lightly. The power of the dark side can be... alluring." Revan glimpses an expression akin to fascination overcome the Jedi. It's gone in the blink of an eye, and she's not certain it was ever there in the first place as a more understandable solemnity takes its place. "We need only to look at the atrocities which have been committed by those under its sway to understand the terrible, corrupting evil of the dark side. Millions dead, and far more suffering. What sort of person would you have to become to perform such deeds gladly?"

Revan's countenance becomes cold. "Are you saying the light side is innocent of killing?"

"One who serves the light side does not strike down an innocent. We take arms against the dark side and the injustice that follows it only." Bastila replies without hesitation.

Revan would later agree that she could use some lessons in self-control, if just for self-preservation. She barely considers the consequences of her next words, spilled out in a wave of familiar, longstanding anger. "What about those who died while the Order sat on their hands?" She all but snarls, "Or were all those killed by the Mandalorians not innocent enough for you?" _Apathy is death_. Kreia's words resound fiercely with a deep-rooted resentment Revan has long thought dulled by time.

The air shudders with unseen tension, fit to snap at the slightest mistaken breath. Bastila inhales sharply. "Excuse me?"

"You can't think that it's only those who take up arms who kill." Revan grits out, trying to reign in the old hatred that has reared its ugly head. Bastila can speak of the 'corrupting evil of the dark side' all she wants, but Revan will remember the passivity that destroyed worlds in a war that the Jedi should have joined.

Bastila's voice wavers. Her wide-eyed stare makes Revan uneasy. "The… the Masters knew there was something lurking beyond known space; something significantly more dangerous than the immediate threat of the Mandalorians. But they would have eventually intervened."

She's tired of that ragged old excuse, but Revan's already treading a dangerously fine line, arguing with Bastila like this. She'll lose more than she'll gain if Bastila realizes that she remembers. "Okay. _Okay_." She puts a hand over her eyes, and refuses to meet the Jedi's nervous gaze. "The Masters know best. Who am I to argue? You can lecture me all you want – _later_. But can you just… _please _let me sleep for now? It's been a long day."

There's the rustle of cloth as she stands without argument, though there is a pause as she hesitates near the exit. There's the slightest hitch of breath as Bastila considers speaking, but Revan knows there's little more to say, and so does she. She departs without another word.

* * *

"Tell me again why you want to know more about me?" Revan blinks at the younger woman tiredly and ponders over the other's pale, flawless skin. She _must _have some secret for maintaining such a healthy complexion. Revan has acquired noticeable bags under her eyes from a restless night, yet Bastila has come out perfectly fine after their worrisome little episode.

"I saw your service records when you were transferred aboard the Endar Spire, but nothing beyond that. I know very little about you. I'd like to ask you some questions, given our relationship." Bastila explains, matter-of-fact. Since Revan _knows_ that Bastilaknows everything about her (well, hopefully not _everything_), she doesn't buy it for a second.

Unfortunately, refusing to answer will only raise the suspicions of _two _people in their current motley group roaming the hot, dry grounds of Anchorhead. Revan finds herself infinitely grateful for Canderous' lack of interest in matters outside of honor and combat (and that damned swoop bike).

She isn't sure why Carth has decided to join them today when they've both been so adamant in avoiding each other. The only good thing about the arrangement is that she can count on him to remain professional when it counts. She fixedly ignores the pilot as she gives Bastila a curt nod of agreement. The Jedi's smile is one of pure relief. She'd evidently thought Revan would put up more of a fight. "Don't worry, these are simple questions. Nothing too intrusive. First, what kind of background do you have?"

"I enlisted with the Republic for a while, but when my tour of duty ended I hung up my uniform for a mercenary's blade." Revan says without missing a beat.

"On which planet were you born?"

"Deralia. It's in a remote system. You probably haven't heard of it."

"Your current age is?"

"3,012. Healthy living, you know." That elicits an amused snort from Canderous, probably more so because of Bastila's expression than her joke. She's mildly disappointed by the pilot's lack of reaction, but that can only be expected when he's too busy brooding. Not wanting to receive an earful, she makes to put the spotlight back on Bastila, stares at her pointedly, and asks, "Wasn't all this in my service records?"

Bastila doesn't even blink. "Truth be told, I was curious about our discussion yesterday. And your response." The Jedi's acting is better than Revan first assumed; the other two of their party don't even think to ask what they'd discussed.

"Due to my history, there's some bad blood between me and… certain parties." Revan says just as ambiguously. Let Bastila think she blames the Order for the loss of her imaginary parents to the Mandalorians. Even if the younger woman's reservations persist, she wouldn't dare tip Revan off with any obvious signs of suspicion.

"So you were a mercenary, Blackmoor," Canderous observes with a rough sort of interest, "Your line of work must make you familiar with battle."

"Oh, yes." Revan nods sagely. "Lots of battles. Lots of adventures. I'd enlighten you but I'm afraid the story may be too colorful for our princess to handle." The use of the nickname Canderous gave Bastila from an earlier conversation makes the Jedi bristle.

"I am certainly no princess! Have I not told you of the training I underwent to arrive where I am today?"

"A princess who could probably take on a dozen men by herself – if she hasn't misplaced her lightsaber. That better?" Revan grins. Bastila glares. With a roll of her eyes, Revan surrenders. There's no harm in recounting a story or two of her brief career as a mercenary on the Outer Rim. "Fine, I'll tell you about this one incident on Nar Shaddaa a while back. I'd signed up for a 'transport job' – only slightly illegitimate, don't look at me like that. Somehow I got caught up in a funny misunderstanding that landed me outside the Jekk' Jekk Tarr with an angry Trandoshan and a set of Twi'lek underwear…"

Revan's outlandish story even rouses a smile from Carth. Strangely pleased, she jumps into another one of her escapades on another less than savory planet. Perhaps Aria began as a fictional personality, but her short-lived existence and experiences became real enough for Revan. It was… _fun _to explore the galaxy the way she had, out on the frontier armed with nothing but freedom, a set of vibroblades, and no memories to weigh her down.

"So these idiots were smuggling Rontos, of all things! But they hadn't known it was right in the middle of mating season for the poor beasts." Revan gestures animatedly with her hands, enjoying her narration with mischief bright in her eyes as they pass some of Tatooine's native Rontos near Anchorhead's cantina, "There's this scent female Rontos give off, you know, when they're in heat, and Rodians have the misfortune of smelling just like it! One of the Rodian smugglers got too close – not at my suggestion, of course, and then –"

The cantina doors burst open. A Duros storms out and past them, muttering furiously to himself about the gall of the human species. Revan's train of thought derails completely. "What's got his knickers in a twist?" The cantina has suddenly become even more appealing than usual.

"Perhaps we should investigate." Bastila suggests, unable to conceal her own curiosity. She grows defensive when Revan throws her a disbelieving look. "As you said yesterday, this place could prove fruitful to our search."

"I'm not arguing with you." Revan turns to head for the cantina as well as hide her grin. They enter to the heady scent of filth and loud and angry voices.

"You should show us some respect, lady." Two humans and a Twi'lek encircle an older woman like Kath hounds to prey, but the woman is not impressed, eyeing them with an upturned nose.

"I will show respect to those who have earned it." She sniffs. Revan can't quite put her finger on it, but there's something familiar about her.

One of the two human males slams a hand on the table the woman is seated at, rattling and spilling the full cup of liquid over the dark wooden surface. "We earn our keep out there," he gestures wildly towards some unknown land, and that's when Revan realizes they're all drunk, "risking life and limb. We hunt beasts with teeth as large as your arm! They'd eat you for a snack and use your bones as toothpicks!"

"What a wonderful image." The woman raises an aristocratic brow. "It is apparent you have nothing better to do, but must you waste my time as well?"

The exchange is threatening to reach a violent end. Revan won't tolerate browbeating in her presence and lays a hand atop her lightsaber. In her periphery she sees Carth doing the same with his pistols, and Canderous is most definitely sizing their targets up.

And then her line of thought grinds to an abrupt halt with a single, startled word.

"_Mother_?"

Seven heads turn to Bastila with varying degrees of shock and confusion.

"Wait, so that's your…" Revan trails off as everything clicks into place. She can certainly see the family resemblance.

One of the men smiles unkindly as his attention is drawn to Bastila. "So the old broad has a daughter." His smile transforms into a leer. "I'm shocked to see what a pretty little thing she is, considering how much of an ill-mannered harpy you are."

"How 'bout I buy you a drink?" The second man slurs, stumbling towards the Jedi. "Your mom acted real impolite... wanna make it up to us?"

The confrontation is coming to a head. Bastila is seething in wordless indignation, and Revan is ready to jump in the second one of the thugs so much as lifts a blaster.

Shockingly, it's not any one of them who acts first.

"You will leave my daughter out of this, you swine!" Bastila's _mother_ announces severely and empties the contents of her glass onto the nearest hunter. He splutters and furiously wipes the liquid out of his eyes, free hand retaliating blindly. He seizes the older woman's arm and pulls her forward, but Revan is beside them in an instant, grasping his wrist and twisting. He hollers in pain and releases his hold, stumbling backwards, but Revan yanks him back and knees him in the nether regions, eliciting a remarkably high-pitched shout before he pitches into a table.

"On your left!" Carth warns the next second and Revan crouches low to the ground as the Twi'lek fires his blaster. It misses and leaves a dark burn on the wall, but the pilot is returns fire. Only two shots sound, but they're all that's needed. One sends the Twi'lek's blaster flying out of his outstretched hand, the next grazes the hunter's leg to cripple and he tumbles to the grimy cantina floor, cursing. Seeing his companions so easily taken down, the last hunter doesn't even touch his weapon and flees.

Revan wipes the grime from her hands as she stares at mother and daughter. "What are the chances?" She marvels with a shake of her head.

* * *

"I can't believe your mother single-handedly instigated a cantina brawl." Revan informs her annoyed companion with unmistakable admiration. "It was…"

"Humiliating? Reckless? Unbelievably irresponsible?"

"Amazing." Revan beams. The only downside was being kicked out of the cantina (for discharging firearms – apparently fights are fine as long as it's delegated to fists), though they probably would have left anyhow.

"I apologize for protecting my daughter from corrupt deviants." Helena interjects with no genuine remorse. Bastila bristles and whirls to face her mother.

"I can take care of myself, _mother_." The term takes on the quality of an insult when Bastila says it. Years of Jedi training are instantly forgotten the moment she stepped outside with Helena. "If you haven't already forgotten, you gave me away to the Order. This thing strapped to my side? It's a _lightsaber_."

"Isn't this a lovely reunion? Already she's flinging insults at me." Helena glances at Revan, disapproving. "Tell me… you're one of her friends. Do you treat your mother this way?"

"Oh, she's dead." She answers glibly. Revan never knew her mother, but if this is what familial relationships are like, she's rather glad not to have had such affairs of her own.

Helena sighs and seems to deflate. "Is that so? Well, I'll be joining her soon enough, I suppose."

"What are you talking about? Where is Father?"

The quiet resolve Revan saw before has nearly vanished into a great weariness. The lines of age are thrown into stark relief. "Then you haven't heard. I should have known."

Bastila stiffens. The breath catches in her throat. "Has something happened to him? Are you going to tell me or not?" She demands.

The no-nonsense manner of the older woman's voice takes on an edge of gentleness. "Your Father is dead, Bastila."

Bastila doesn't immediately respond. She's shocked, but it's quick to make way for anger. "Dead? What happened? What did you do to him?!"

"Such sweet things you say! Perhaps I should tell you everything, first, before we start arguing again."

The bitterness being generated is enough to curl toenails. This is unfinished family business Revan isn't convinced she wants to poke her nose into. It certainly isn't her place to listen in on private family affairs. Thankfully, when they were ejected from the cantina, Revan noticed a Jawa follow them out; Jawas aren't known for their trust of outsiders, and she's undeniably curious as to what the tiny scavenger wants. An excuse prepared, Revan cuts in before estranged mother and daughter can continue their discussion.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to excuse us. We have important business to attend to, though I don't want to interrupt such personal matters. Shan," Revan glances at Bastila, "finish up back on the _Ebon Hawk_." Bastila is ready to protest, but she wants to know of her father's fate badly enough to deal with the issues of her mother and nods soundlessly.

They leave the two outside the cantina. Once out of hearing range, Revan exhales noisily. "Shan women are quite frightening when put together."

"Should we really have left them alone? Is she going to be okay?" Carth asks, glancing back in the direction they'd departed.

Revan waves a dismissive hand. "She'll pull through." She has to – Jedi don't have the luxury of moping about. And they're not going to spend the day listening to family drama when Bastila is a perfectly able adult who can (hopefully) take care of her own issues.

"The Jedi princess has some fight in her after all." Canderous agrees.

"You _would_ approve." Revan accuses without heat. And then more loudly, "Jawa, come out. I know you're waiting to speak with us." A pause. Then a small figure comes shuffling out of an alley and slowly comes to a stop before them. Bright yellow orbs peer up at Revan, though she's more surprised by how she hadn't noticed the Jawa from its potent smell alone.

The Jawa chirps up at her and her alone. "We do not wait to speak with all. Jawas wish to speak with you, not the others of your kind."

Simplified Jawaese isn't difficult to learn, but it _is _irritating to keep pace with. Revan takes a moment to familiarize with the rapid dialect and absorb the words. Finally, she frowns. "Why me?"

"There are many of us, but not where you can see. From before, we see you and other fight with swords made of light. Iziz thinks yours can help ours. Speak to him, near the doors where all leave. We trade for things you want, if help is given." Message passed on, the Jawa departs.

Canderous watches with the bored look of incomprehension, but Carth furrows his brows. "They need help, but they couldn't even clarify what they want from us."

"I think that's why we're meeting Iziz." Revan points out.

"You can't keep making decisions on your own." Carth chides, though he doesn't disagree. "At the very least there's no harm in talking to this Iziz. It might even turn out to be useful."

* * *

Somewhere between the cantina and Anchorhead's entryway, they lose Canderous. The Mandalorian suddenly stops following and veers off for some unknown destination, undeterred by Revan's query as to where the hell does he think he's going. But she's not overly concerned – if Canderous couldn't take care of himself she wouldn't have personally enlisted his help.

"So much for the Party of Three rule." Revan sighs. It's only Carth and her now. On a better day that would be perfectly fine, but as they left off on shaky terms, the silence that ensues is nothing short of awkward. "So, back at the cantina. Nice... shooting." She comments rather inelegantly.

"Thanks. Nice… reflexes." Carth says right back, replicating her pause to the last microsecond. Revan's almost convinced he's making fun of her.

"My response time is above average." Revan agrees modestly, "I would have dodged the shot even if you hadn't spoken up." And then she thoughtfully adds, "But I appreciated the warning."

Carth rolls his eyes. "Just don't make a habit out of being shot at."

Revan smirks and sends him a mock salute. "Yes sir, commander, sir."

They share a wry look at that. The chain of command on the _Ebon Hawk_ ambiguous at best (technically, they _are _acting under the Order's wishes, but no one would willingly declare Bastila the captain), and both of them know Revan has a problem with obeying authority figures. They continue walking as another silence falls upon them, though it's remarkably less stifling.

Revan breaks it to satisfy a question that has been buzzing insistently in the back of her mind. "Are we okay?" She glances over to the pilot with one expectant, raised brow.

Carth tenses before he slows his pace to face Revan directly, brown eyes honest. "About that. I, ah... I'm not very good at this. I… I know I owe you an apology. Uh, more than one, probably." He tells her, guilt evident. Revan doesn't say a thing and simply gestures for him to go on. "I was just so desperate to finally face Saul directly in the battle over Taris, and now the Jedi have us looking for these… these Star Maps. I'm no Jedi – most of this goes right over my head. I just hate not knowing what's going on and feeling this... _helpless_." His lips set into a firm line, his expression one of resolve. "But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You didn't deserve that."

Revan can think of several things off the top of her had to change that opinion, but she isn't going to mention any of them. "That took you a while." She snorts.

"What can I say? I guess I'm a prideful man." Carth admits ruefully. "I've been a royal pain in the backside, haven't I?"

"Onasi, you don't know the half of it."

Carth chuckles. "Well… I guess I should be at least a little pleased that I haven't lost my touch. So… I'm sorry. Will you accept my apology?"

Despite popular opinion, Revan is not a spiteful woman. She doesn't hold grudges for long (the Order being that rare exception) – they're foolish and senseless and they don't help to get the job done, and Revan _always _gets the job done. So instead of letting any issues between her and the pilot linger, she smiles mischievously and says in a tone that can't be mistaken for anything other than playfulness, "I don't know… Maybe you should work for it, a bit."

Carth sends her a faint, relieved smile, and then it's gone as they settle into familiar, welcomed habits. "Oh?" The pilot feigns reluctance, "I don't know if I like the sound of that."

"Don't you want me to accept your apology?" Revan asks innocently. Carth raises a brow.

"I don't know. What am I going to have to do for it?"

For the briefest instance, Revan isn't quite sure what she's going to say, but logic is quick to return and she adheres to it with religious fervor because how in the world can she _not_ reply with a witty retort? "Blow away the bad guy. Save the damsel in distress. The usual." She says, smiling widely. Carth allows a short laugh.

"Oh, the usual. Well that's not so hard. Let's get to it, then, shall we?"

* * *

"Are you Iziz?"

The Jawa in question glances over to them and tilts his head in confirmation. "I am Iziz of the Jawa." He's wedged between a tan building and Anchorhead's protective wall, almost hidden from sight. The giant spheres Jawas call eyes practically glow in the shadow of the structures.

"One of your people directed us to you." Carth informs Iziz straightforwardly. "They said you wanted our help."

"There are troubles from the ghosts among the sands." Iziz agrees, and though the pilot was the one to initiate conversation, he directs his unblinking gaze to Revan. "You of your kind can help Iziz." Revan isn't so sure she enjoys the attention – she's had enough of yellow eyes and vague messages to last a lifetime.

"I _could_ help," She nods slowly, "but that depends on what you're asking."

The Jawa shuffles forward until he's just out of arm's reach. "Iziz, I am," he greets, "Leader of the tribe that is mine. You are the same in kind, a leader that stands before your tribe?"

The observation takes her aback. She supposes taking a year off hasn't completely done away with her air of authority, though she's in command of no one these days. It's frustrating, if she's honest with herself – she's given out orders for so long, and now she can barely handle the _Ebon Hawk's_ small crew (she can't help but wonder if it's just that everyone loves to contradict her, or if she simply has a knack for picking up argumentative companions).

She can sense Carth's amusement as well. "Leader of our tribe? Heh. That's a new one." He chuckles.

The remark is ignored by Iziz (though Revan takes a moment to elbow the pilot). "There are troubles that we have. The giants made of sand, they are horned ghosts that take us away."

"…Sand People?" Revan translates bemusedly.

"That is how you know them. Giants are different for us, we being smaller. People of Sand are who I mean."

"You're having trouble with the Sand People. They're… taking your people away?" Revan continues, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose – or to shake the Jawa until he starts making sense. Iziz isn't making himself easy to understand. "Do you want us to find them?"

Iziz chirps rapidly at her deduction. "There has been no help given by asking the great group that digs with machines. Now Iziz asks you. I ask that you find us, and then bring away from the People of Sand. Then we will offer a trade with you. Long have we scavenged, among you and those that came before. We have things you will like for this service."

The last half of the explanation is unexpectedly useful. She tries not to sound too eager as she asks for clarification. "Tell me more about 'those that came before.'"

"You stand on Anchorhead, a place named and named again. You come to dig, but it was already dug. Settled over and over. Also long ago, ships fell after battles above. Now we scavenge and find the pieces." Iziz gestures to her with an outstretched hand, "You dig the ore and dirt. In time from now, we will dig you."

That's right – the Rakatans once occupied this planet. Being proficient scavengers,the Jawas would have stumbled across remnants. Revan feels rather silly to not have considered the possibility herself.

She kneels down to meet Iziz at eye-level in mounting excitement, paying no heed to the Jawa's remarkable stench (she's going to need a long shower later though). "I'm looking for something called a Star Map. Can you help?"

Iziz begins speaking even more rapidly. His hands move in quick, excited motions. "These things I know! Yes! From those that came before, the guide to lights far and away. I can tell you! Please, first help the tribe of Iziz among the People of the Sand, and we will trade what we each need."

Revan senses no deception from the tiny cloaked figure, but she hasn't lived this long on trust alone. She glances to Carth, who shakes his head. He needs verification as well, before they even think about agreeing to a deal. "You'll tell me after I help you? How can I trust your word?"

"I know this! Listen to the words I could not know without seeing it!" Iziz chirrups almost desperately. "A map of stars to those from before! Please release the tribe, and I will make this known to you. Your rewards will be fair with me."

Again, there's not an iota of dishonesty given off by the Jawa. Revan stands upright and turns to Carth. "He's telling the truth. I can feel it."

Carth frowns. "Is this your Jedi training speaking?" At her confirmation, he sighs wearily. "Guess we're making a trade."

It's not the preferred outcome and Revan isn't thrilled to be jumping through hoops once again, but they've stumbled across a solid lead that may very well take them straight to the Star Map and she can't ignore that. She faces the Jawa, resigned to take on this one task. "Iziz, you've got yourself a deal. We find your friends, you show us the Star Map."

"Iziz hopes you have the luck you need." Iziz tilts his head in a short bow of respect. The deal is made.

* * *

**A/N: A rather bland ending, but hopefully the chapter itself was enjoyable enough. Have a merry Christmas or whichever winter holiday of your choosing! This early and rather long chapter (20 pages in Word, baby!) is a gift from me to you. Thank you guys for reading this little project of mine!**

**I also want to say this before I forget: updates will probably become less frequent. I started this story partially because of NaNoWriMo and continued even after I failed miserably at the challenge (two months for 50k words ain't so bad… right?), but without a time limit I have no reason to hurry. I usually had one or two chapters already prepared a week in advance, but I've grown progressively lazier and barely finished this one in time.**

**But maybe by taking my time, the quality will improve…? (Hah, good joke!)**


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